The Dumping Ground: Renaissance
by BizarrePineapple16
Summary: Uninspired and disappointed by her lot in life, ex-care kid Carmen Howle falls back on her careworker training and enlists her old friend Elektra to set up a care home with her. But, faced with setback after setback, will they even be able to get the new Dumping Ground up and running in the first place? COMPLETE.
1. Fitting Room

Time was running out, so he was killing everything he used to be.

It was to be short-lived and messy, just like _he_ had been his whole life. As he prepared for the massacre that was to follow, what could he do but reflect on how he'd come to be here?

The interrogations. The accusations. He had grown tired of them, could bear them no longer. No more ' _Oh, is it true? Oh, you poor thing… I'm so sorry'_ , no more ' _Is it true?... Really?'_. Each piteous putdown throbbed like a stubbed toe; each whispered aside stung like a snakebite.

No more ' _It's your own fault'_.

He needed it all to end – finality. Glorious finality. It was time for big brother to take the reins and come shining through – and to do that little brother had to die. This was the solution, he knew it – not the best one, certainly not the only one – but it had taken tragedies to bring him here, and he was happy to let the voice of desperation take over.

And he'd been doing so _well_. Getting on with the others, lulling himself into a false sense of security. How _that_ had worked.

It began.

Calculated. Methodical. Merciless.

Rip the heart out and chuck it away; he's beyond that. _Is this right?_ Does he need a shadow – surely that means double the possibility to be noticed? _Can this be good?_ Brain. He never needed this one. Never used it. Slash – cut his brain out. Find the soul, stab that till it leaks out. _Hermit_. Kill him. _Can I?_ No evidence, no remains and nothing left. _Spiritual_. Mouth – he used it enough – hollow it out. Like the innards of a pumpkin. Reassemble, bring to the boil, and serve.

Surely this was for the best?

Wasn't it?

And just like that: back to square one.

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 1: "Fitting Room"  
( _Back to the Beginning_ , Part 1)**

* * *

Carmen added a generously heaped teaspoon of sugar to the swirl of caramel-coloured tea and passed the painfully-pink mug to the teenager sitting on the opposite sofa.

And so they sat, on threadbare sofas, just staring at each other as steam rose from the mugs. They sat, and sat, and sat, neither wanting to have to be the one to begin the conversation. A deafening pendulum counted the silent seconds.

"… Well there's definitely a reason this is called the quiet room," Carmen joked, prompting a small murmur from the teenager, more to show recognition than amusement.

She decided to try something different. Putting down the mug, she began, "I thought I would be brilliant at this. Careworking, easy. Been through the system already? You're sorted. But I was wrong, and there was _so much_ that I had to learn. And then I realise that you _have_ to learn. All the time, you have to make the _worst_ mistakes or say the _worst_ things, and just learn from it. Because it's all practice for people like you. A spanner in the works. Somebody so extraordinary, somebody who _does_ something so extraordinary that it takes everything you've got to cope."

The teenager looked up at Carmen; Carmen thought she sensed a flash of appreciation glinting in those eyes. And then the monotone reply came: "You always have to learn."

* * *

Mike stood facing the closed door of the bathroom; he was shouting at it over the deafening din.

"SASHA, GET OUT OF THERE!"

"WHAT, BECAUSE _YOU_ WANT ME TO? FAT CHANCE!" came the angry reply. Water began to seep under the door and out onto the carpet; Mike groaned in frustration.

An exercise book tumbled down, knocking him on the head. Mike craned his neck up into the attic to see what on earth was happening. Jay and Bird appeared at the top of the ladder to the attic, Jay's grinning countered by Bird's furious expression.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?" screeched Mike.

"I'M GONNA KILL HIM!" yelled Bird.

Suddenly, Elektra was beside Mike, evidently flustered. "NO, YOU'RE NOT, OR _I'LL_ KILL _BOTH_ OF YOU! NOW, COME DOWN!" she ordered. "OW!" she yapped as she stepped on a forgotten, crumbling pile of Lego bricks.

Carmen stormed onto the landing, not even noticing Floss, who was curled into a foetal ball on the floor, hands jammed over her ears like chunky headphones. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?" she demanded.

Suddenly, a small dark shape came scurrying past. A gerbil, whizzing along the floor. Of course, the robot gerbil toy. Of course, right now, at this time. Tyler sped along the landing, frantically trying to catch it. Kids screamed and shouted everywhere.

"HOW DID WE GET INTO THIS MESS?" screamed Carmen.

* * *

 _Four months earlier_

Carmen sat alone on the floor of her tiny flat, idly tugging on the frayed carpet with one hand and clutching her phone with the other. She had definitely learned about life the hard way: she had learned that infinitesimal council allowances counted for nothing financially, she had learned that everything in life was too expensive, and she had learned that she was going to have to spend her life living on the bare minimum.

Initially she had trained as a careworker, inspired by the home in which she had transitioned from ditzy diva to sensible grown-up. But she had soon tired of learning the most effective ways to stack a dishwasher, and so she had attempted to set up a costume business. But then the universe gleefully threw a spanner in the works, and now Carmen was left staring her life in the face; she was just a pathetic eighteen-year-old in a pink smock, surrounded by mannequins that glared down at her like she was a stupid little girl.

Her phone buzzed enthusiastically, and she scrambled to answer. ".. Oh. Oh, hi… Sorry, hi! … Why're you ringing me, it's been a while mister … Of course, of course … Yeah, I'm loving life!" She nervously glanced around the dimly-lit hovel of a room. "You? … Well, _much_ better than when I was at the _Dumping Ground_ , at least!"

A lightbulb flashed in her brain, a bright, pulsing, excitable lightbulb.

The Dumping Ground.

The. Dumping. Ground.

Could… could she?

This was becoming more appealing by the minute.

"… Uh, I'm sorry, but I've got to go, _so_ sorry but I've got this… uber-cool party coming up tonight, got to get ready… Yeah, promise… Bye!" Carmen threw the phone across the carpet, buoyed down by tempting thoughts. All emotions were gone, replaced by one single thought: The Dumping Ground. Could she do this? It would certainly be fitting, certainly be convenient, a way out of this half-life she was living. The key to her future lay in her past.

Could she do this? Well, at least it would be fun to try.

* * *

Carmen sat on a slowly disintegrating chair, staring expectantly at the screen in front of her. Two weeks had passed; now she was ready to tell her news to the world. A face popped into pixelated view, and Carmen smiled gleefully.

"TEE!" she beamed. "I've got _big_ news."

"Oh, hello to you too!" smiled a waving Tee in response. "Australia's _great_ , thanks for not asking(!) How are you?"

"Yep, great. Fabulous… so… big news?"

"Go on then," Tee relented.

"Okay, so… I'm going to set up my own Dumping Ground!"

There was a long silence that could only mean something bad.

"… Tee, please say something."

"Sorry, I'm just… just taking it in… I mean, are you really going to do this? This is _big stuff_. This is _important_."

"I know, but I think I've got everything sorted."

"But have you? How far have you actually got?"

"Well, nothing _actually_ sorted, but, you know… _plans_ and stuff."

"Why are you doing it, though? What about 'Carmen's Costumes'? I thought you were on the edge of making it big." Ah yes, she _had_ told Tee that.

"Tee, you should be happy for me!"

"I am, it's just-"

"I've finally decided what I want to do. If I trained as a careworker, surely it was like fate? What I was destined to do? I've got things sorted. I can keep on with the costumes until I'm up and running with the Dumping Ground, then go full-time. I need three to four careworkers. I've done ROTAS, Tee, and I've got my eye on this land that's being redeveloped. That could be ready in seven months. I mean, if I write my plans up now – I would have done it earlier but I had my dad's funeral to go to, and-"

" _Your dad's funeral_?" questioned Tee, her voice brimming with disgust at the nonchalance with which Carmen announced this.

Carmen's heartbeat quickened; blood pounded in her ears. Utter, complete quiet, and then- "My dad… died… and I just carried on…"

"Oh my _god_ , Carmen, why didn't you tell me?"

"I know, I'm sorry, I-"

"I could have been _there_ for you!"

"Tee, life can end so quickly, _so_ unexpectedly. I want – I _need_ to teach people that, need to give them the best life possible. I think this is what I have to do."

Tee smiled reassuringly. Understandingly.

* * *

 _From: Unknown number_

 _To: Carmen Howle_

 _Hi,_

 _Saw the thing in the group chat. Careworkers needed? Friday at 4 – your flat? Promise I am not a stalker/rapist/weird (maybe a lil weird but that's good right?)_

 _Your Mystery Friend x_

* * *

A few days later, Carmen sat on the carpet of her flat again, fastidiously checking little details in her notebook; she'd been convinced by Tee that by putting all her Dumping Ground thoughts into one little tacky pink notebook she'd remember it better.

There was a checklist in the book, a long list of names. Each one had been contacted by Carmen, then given a tick or a cross by their name. Carmen was pleased with all the work she had put in, and now two of those names had massive pink glitter-pen ticks next to them: two careworkers for Carmen's new Dumping Ground. Carmen was waiting for a possible third name to arrive at her flat any minute soon.

Somebody knocked on the door, and Carmen began to panic.

 _Right, well whoever it is, it's clearly somebody who knows me: they've got my number, it must be okay. But who, out of my friends, would want to be a careworker?_ Who is it? _Come on Carmen, you should know how to answer the door by now. Just go for it._

Carmen leapt off the carpet and gingerly opened the door; she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the person on the other side was, at least, somebody she knew.

But still – how could she have ever predicted _this_?

"Surprise!" announced Elektra.

Carmen's eyes widened for a moment. _Elektra_ was here, somebody she hadn't even seen in years, and besides, she thought that she had moved down south. Carmen noticed that Elektra had grown up to be a truly beautiful woman; she was now approaching twenty, and still hadn't outgrown the streaks of vibrant blue that illuminated her lustrous brown hair – to be honest, Carmen couldn't even discern any difference between the girl who she used to live with, and the woman currently standing in front of her.

"… No, this isn't a surprise," Carmen pretended. "… This was entirely expected…" She relented; she was just happy to see her friend again. "Hi, Elektra!"

"Can I come in then?" Elektra asked. Carmen was about to answer, but then she noticed that Elektra was already very much in the flat, and was taking off her dark blue coat and draping it over the only chair in the whole place.

"So…" began Elektra as she put her bag on the table. "What do you need careworkers for?"

"Elektra! Can't we just say _hello_ first? Want anything to drink?"

"Well… what have you got?"

"Not much… sorry…"

"You're actually really quite _poor_ , aren't you?" Elektra laughed. Carmen subtly glared. "Cup of tea?"

"Okay." Carmen walked over to the small kitchen area, filled the kettle with water, and let it begin to boil. She walked back to Elektra and indicated a patch of carpet. "Sorry, we'll have to sit on the floor, I couldn't be bothered getting more than one chair."

"That's fine, neither could I," admitted Elektra, as she sat down. "How have you been, then? It must have been… three or four years since we last met? You were setting up 'Carmen's Costumes'…"

"Oh. Well, yeah, it turns out costumes aren't really my thing."

"Truth be told, I did think at the time that you'd get _nowhere_ with that."

"Well, I'm still going through with it, just until I've set up the carehome."

"Ah, yes… _the carehome_?"

"I'm setting up a carehome."

"Yes, I'd gathered that, thanks. But why? And _where_?"

The kettle boiled noisily, and Carmen rushed to it. She continued to speak as she made a cup of tea. "My dad died."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not, you never knew him."

"Well… I was being polite. I'm trying to be friendly! – can you tell?" Carmen chuckled at that. " _So_?"

"My dad died, and I kind of realised how _important_ life is. Costumes aren't working and my life is quickly going down the plughole of existence–"

Elektra sniggered at the phrase 'plughole of existence'.

"– And I want to be able to make other people's lives better," she continued. "I feel like it's what I was destined to do."

Elektra paused for a moment. "… That was actually quite inspirational. So, what, you're going to set up a carehome, and be a careworker? Good for you. When it's happening? Where?"

Carmen handed Elektra the cup of tea and sat down. "Well, I've not actually presented anything to the council yet…"

"…So, does that mean nothing's official?" Elektra looked suspiciously at Carmen.

"It _will_ be official, when I've asked the council about it!"

"…Right." Elektra wasn't convinced.

"But I'm hoping for everything to be ready in seven months. I'm looking at this old boarding school, it's being redeveloped anyway and they're opening bids and everything."

Elektra sipped on the tea. "Carmen… this all seems lovely, you seem to know what you _want_ , but I'm just worrying… do you have _any_ ideas about _how_ you're going to manage this? Any of it?"

"I'm going to… go to… the council?"

"When? That's my point. You need to have _everything_ sorted out. Where the carehome will be, when it will open. The price you're negotiating for the land, how it'll be used, floorplans, building companies. Sample budgets, how many careworkers you'll need, what you'll pay them. You need _so much_ stuff that you don't have. _Come on_ , Carmen, if you're going to be serious about this, you need help."

"… From you?" asked Carmen.

"Well, I mean, _together_ we could probably work it out."

"Now?"

"If you want to…"

Carmen thought. She _did_ need help. And if Elektra was convinced she could help, then she should give her a chance… surely? "… Okay then. Now."

"Good," Elektra smiled. "I'm not leaving until we're sorted, then. Pull up a chair… as it were. It's going to be a long night."

* * *

And so Elektra and Carmen sat there, on the floor, armed only with a laptop each. Even if Carmen had a clock, they wouldn't have cared for the time; they sat there, unmoving but constantly talking, sitting there on the floor for hours – although it seemed like days – researching, finding things out, gazing at spreadsheets, creating posh-looking tables. When combined, Carmen's enthusiasm and Elektra's knowledge made an incredible team, as it turned out, and although it took a while, it came to a point where they had just sent off an incredibly long email to the council, crammed full of every conceivable piece of information relating to Carmen's prospective care home.

Finally, they got up off the floor, backs aching, and looked at the time.

"Carmen, it's two o'clock in the morning," announced Elektra.

"Oh yeah," yawned Carmen wearily. "When did that happen?"

"I'm gonna have to get home."

"Are you sure? You can stay here if you like."

"It's fine. Anyway, _I'm_ not the one waiting for the council to wake up and make a decision. You do know they're not going to respond at _least_ until the morning, don't you? If I find out you've been hunched over that laptop all through the night…"

"Do you want me to text you when they reply?"

"Yeah, then I'll come back, and we'll see what to do next." Elektra put her laptop back in her bag and put her coat back on. She walked towards the door.

"It was really nice seeing you again, Elektra."

"Oh please, call me Mandy," said Elektra in a hoarse, faux-posh voice. Carmen laughed.

"Well then _Mandy_ , thank you. I'm actually really surprised; I thought you were always just the person who joked about and did nothing to help anybody – you've been really helpful, thanks."

"Um… _Well_ , Imean, it's _probably_ because I'm about as committed to this as you are."

"Oh really? Any reason?"

"Oh, we've all got our reasons, Carmen."

She headed towards the door.

"Bye then."

And with that she was gone.

* * *

 _Hi,_

 _It's me. Email! Come back. Good but bad._

 _Carmen_

* * *

Elektra stormed into the flat enthusiastically, dumping her bag and a small plastic box on the table. "So… email? Good but bad – what does that _mean_?"

Carmen stared at the plastic box on the table; it contained a very appetising piece of cake, gooey and chocolatey and delectable.

"Before all that though…" she ventured. "Is that cake?"

Elektra rolled her eyes. "Yes, it's for you, go on."

"Why cake though?" asked Carmen as she rummaged about in her cupboards for a spare plate.

"It's my birthday," came the nonchalant reply.

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot… actually, I don't think I _knew_. How old are you, anyway – mid-forties? I'm guessing mid-forties."

"Cheeky! Do you want the cake or not? Twenty, thank you. Come _on_ , tell me about the email!"

Carmen flipped open her laptop and showed Elektra the council's reply. "Well basically, they _love_ our proposal, and all our ideas and everything, and they think we could definitely make it work. And… you know the land I wanted? It's definitely still available, and they're fine with that being the building we use."

"There's definitely a 'but…' coming, isn't there?" mused Elektra, absent-mindedly biting her thumb nail.

"But… the council are really busy, and we're really low down on the priority list. They've got more important things to do now, but they've said they'll keep an eye on that school for us, but they can't give it to us until they reach where we are on the list. And we're really near the bottom of the list."

"Right. Well, this is fine."

"What? No, it clearly isn't. It's a disaster – we're at the bottom of the priority list, and the Dumping Ground will never happen."

"Yes, it will! Don't worry! All we need to do is… be a tiny bit _clever_ with how we talk to the council."

"How do you mean, clever?"

"Let's just say we _could_ be a bit… generous with our cash."

"Nope, not getting you," replied an oblivious Carmen, between mouthfuls of cake.

"Bribe them, Carmen."

Carmen looked shocked. "Elektra! Isn't that a criminal offence? No! We're _not_ doing that! And anyway, you can't _bribe_ a city council!"

"Yeah, course you can, easy. I've done it before; they got me a bigger flat once when I'd just left the DG. You just offer them some of your spare change, and they leapfrog you up the priority list – _simple_! Honestly, Carmen, money makes the world go round."

"I'd prefer to think it was love, actually."

"Well, you'd be wrong. Anyway, if they love our ideas, all they need is a nudge in the right direction and we'll be good to go!"

"So 'a nudge in the right direction' in this case is just lots of money…"

"… Yeah. And before you say it, I've definitely got enough."

"I thought you said you were broke?"

"Yeah, I did. But it's taken a while for everybody to sort out my grandma's will, and now it's all sorted, turns out I've got _quite a bit_ of money. Never knew the old cow was so minted."

"Never knew the old cow _died_."

"Look who's talking," retorted Elektra.

"So, we try to bribe the council, and then what?"

" _Then_ they'll buy the land, get the companies in to turn it into a care home, and we sit back and wait. And everything's sorted."

"That seems too easy…"

"As long as they take the bribe, we're sorted. Don't worry, everything's fine. Come on, stop fretting. Finish your cake, and let's take on the council."

Carmen smiled. Elektra had a habit of making that happen.

* * *

"Waterland House?"

"Sounds like a name for a really posh toilet."

"But it's adorably gothic!"

The sun glared harshly at Carmen and Elektra as they sat on the park bench regretting the number of jackets they were each wearing; summer had arrived with a vengeance. They'd decided that their next meeting should be somewhere that _wasn't_ Carmen's dingy, grotty flat, so here they were at the park, trying to come up with names for a carehome.

"Carmen-y and Peace."

"Carmen, where are you even _going_ with that?"

"Because it sounds like 'Harmony and Peace'… peaceful."

"No. House of Elektra?"

"No. Howle's House?"

"No. Elektra's Carehome of Magic?"

"NO! Ashdene Ridge Part 2?"

"No. Elektra's Orphanage of Magic and Doughnuts?"

"No. Elm Tree House Part 3?"

"No. Elektra's Magic Flying Orphanage of Doughnuts and Money?"

"No. Howle's Grotto?"

"Maybe we should just _not_ have a name?"

"Oh yeah, and how would that work, exactly?"

Carmen's laptop angrily pinged at her. She flipped the screen up, quickly scanned what was on the screen, then angled it towards Elektra and gulped. "Elektra, look – they've changed their mind. The redeveloped school's been pencilled in for flats. Not for a care home. Not for us. Our new Dumping Ground's been scrapped."

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed it! It feels so odd to have uploaded my first proper chapter in four years! This chapter was written from 11 December 2015-9 November 2018. Thanks to CharlieSMarts12 and Linneagb for your reviews!**

 **Next week's episode continues this story; here's a sneak preview:  
** Carmen and Elektra get the big guns in to take on the council, with an all-out banner-waving campaign outside their offices. But will they be successful?  
 **Episode 2, "Fight For Your Site (And Party!)", is coming next Friday (25 January).**


	2. Fight For Your Site (And Party!)

_Carmen's laptop angrily pinged at her. She flipped the screen up and quickly scanned what was on the screen, then angled it towards Elektra and gulped. "Elektra – they've changed their mind. The redeveloped school's been pencilled in for flats. Not for a care home. Not for us. Our new Dumping Ground's been scrapped."_

"Flats?" Elektra questioned. "What flats?"

"I don't know, they've not said anything else."

"What _flats_ can be so important that they stop _our project_?" Elektra sounded incredulous.

"Flats that make the council more money, I guess."

"I mean, all we're trying to do is _enrich the lives of orphans_ , but of course, oh no, that's not enough, not when the council has _money to make_!"

"Elektra, calm down."

"I'm not going to _calm down_ –"

" _Calm. Down._ " Carmen shook her friend into submission. "You said it yourself, money makes the world go round." Elektra scowled. "Look, we'll work a way around this. There'll be different land we can use, better land–"

"I spent two hours looking for better land – _there isn't any_. Carmen, don't give up. If it takes the council _so little time_ to change their mind about who gets the land, then we can definitely change it back. We _need_ that site."

"Right. Fine," conceded Carmen. "We'll try. We'll try all we can. But we need to know _why_ they've suddenly backed out on us."

"But you said it – the flats are gonna make more money than us."

"We had a contract, though! Well, nearly. I hadn't _actually_ signed my pages. But they _sent_ a contract – they were all ready to give us that site. So there _must_ be some other reason."

"Something we've done wrong, maybe?"

"Exactly. But how do we find out what it is – ask them?"

"Nah, we'd look desperate."

"Ask someone _else_ to ask them?"

"Too obvious."

"Right, so what _do_ we do, please?"

"We break into their office."

Carmen spluttered slightly. "What? Are you serious? Elektra – that's criminal!"

"Not if you don't get caught…" Elektra confronted Carmen's quizzical eyes. "Look, I've broken into places before; I won't be caught. It's the best way to find out what made them change their minds – and we can work out what to do next."

"No."

"Come on!" winged Elektra, fluttering her eyelashes.

"… No."

"I'm going to do it anyway."

"Fine."

"You're not convinced. But Carmen, this site is perfect – they're redeveloping it anyway, it's the right size, it's practically ready-made! We need to fight for it."

"I just wish it was a bit less illegal."

"It'll be fine."

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 2: "Fight For Your Site (And Party!)"  
( _Back to the Beginning_ , Part 2)**

* * *

Everything was calm: computers hummed their reassuring electronic drone, the clock ticked on, second after second in blissful quiet, each second marked out peacefully and regularly. Calm… quiet…

A hard leather football sailed through the window, sending a desk rolling away on its flimsy wheels as glass sprayed over neglected pot plants and into discarded cups of tea. A hand followed the ball, latching onto the inside of the window. Then came the arm, then the rest of Elektra.

She swung herself into the office, wincing as she grazed her knee on the desk that had just pushed itself across the carpet.

Looking around, she moved to the nearest desk in the small office, impatiently wiggling the mouse as she sat down. The chair was uncomfortable; she decided to simply hover over the monitor instead.

Once Elektra's prepared array of 'open's, 'password's and '123abc's had run out, she glared at the screen angrily as if intimidating it into unlocking – then she saw something sitting on the desk, next to a tasteless mousemat. A fairly enormous bottle of wine. A fairly enormous, half-drunk bottle of wine. Elektra smirked, took some pictures on her phone for possible future blackmail, and took a swig of the tangy red liquid.

As she set the bottle down, a gift label swung into her vision, having been attached to the bottle. _To Jenny. For you, you borderline alcoholic! Love, Marie._

Pleasingly, just one attempt at the word 'Jenny' sent the computer whirring into action. Gotcha.

Elektra got to work.

* * *

"So you found…?" enquired Carmen. Once again they were sat on the floor of her flat, having another informal early-morning meeting.

"A list of all the council priorities, the dates the contracts were signed and the dates they'll be acted on," replied Elektra enthusiastically.

"Well done. And?"

"There's a column for additional information, and it's just this _massive_ list of bribes."

"So we weren't the only ones?"

"Everyone else had the same idea."

" _Everyone_ else?"

"The flats company. _Their_ application was accepted four days after _ours_ was, but their _bribe_ was almost double what _we_ paid."

"So the land _is_ legally ours, then?"

"No. It's _legally_ theirs, but _rightfully_ ours."

"We need to sort this out then. We bribed them, and that wasn't right, but at the end of the day the land's ours. And we're going to fight for it. What would the Dumping Ground do?"

"Protest."

"Exactly. Come on, get your coat, we're going out!"

"Now?" asked Elektra incredulously. "But it's not even nine! Carmen! Who'll be up at nine on a Saturday morning? Where are we going?"

"Come on!" Carmen smiled magically, squeezed Elektra's hand, and together they flung themselves out of the flat.

* * *

"Okay, where actually _are_ we?" asked Elektra as the satnav glumly informed her that they had reached their destination.

"It's fine. I texted both of them, and they'll be here already."

"Who?" Elektra pulled up on the driveway Carmen indicated. They were next to two cars, one blue, one beige, on an ordinary suburban street. "Urgh, I _hate_ not knowing what's going on!" She thumped the steering wheel; the horn beeped _very_ loudly.

They parked, stopped, got out and approached the door, Elektra protesting all the way. Carmen enthusiastically rapped on the door.

Johnny and Mo opened it, smiling merrily. Elektra's eyes bulged. In all these weeks she hadn't thought to ask who the other careworkers would be in this new Dumping Ground; now here they were before her. Johnny and Mo. And they'd barely changed at all.

* * *

They sat around a simple, plain coffee table, perched on simple, plain sofas eating simple, plain supermarket croissants. In front of them were a vast sea of glitter, large rolls of paper and several rainbows of felt-tip pens. If they were going to protest, they were going to do it properly.

"… but now I've got this amazing interpretive art project with the Nature Reserve, so that's _next_ month," Mo announced happily, absent-mindedly colouring-in his poster as he spoke.

The others smiled appreciatively. Artwork was stationed on every visible wall in Mo's living room, stuck on with silver gaffer tape. It was certainly… _interpretative_.

"So, Johnny," began Elektra mischievously. "Nice to see you again – must have been at least three or four years."

"I never thought we'd meet each other again," Johnny smiled. "I missed you; we were really good friends for a bit."

" _Well_ , yeah I missed you too… from time to time," admitted Elektra, sipping scalding coffee. "But I do remember you as the boy who threw _constant_ tantrums, controlled his sister, menaced all the other kids and found it impossible to cope with not being praised all the time." She threw another mischievous smile at him. "So why do you think _you_ would be a good careworker? Bit of a surprise, isn't it?"

"What are you saying?" demanded Johnny, rising up a little on the sofa.

"You don't have to answer, just ignore her," Carmen said, glaring at Elektra who relented and went back to colouring in a corner.

* * *

The four young adults sat on a bench in the middle of the bustling street, letting the uncharacteristic February sun bake them. They held a number of leaflets, placards and banners, ready for the protest.

As Carmen checked her phone and Mo contentedly fed a fluttering bird with bread he had somehow found in the capacious pockets of his beige pullover, Johnny edged closer to a contemplative Elektra.

"Why did you say I couldn't be a careworker this morning?" he asked quickly.

Elektra sensed hurt in his voice; she had to be careful. "I was just acting up, forget about it. It means nothing."

"But you shouldn't bring up stuff from the past, stuff like that… Mandy."

Elektra saw how happy Johnny was with himself; she glared. "I said it was a surprise, and it is. What about the army? Doesn't authoritarian discipline suit you better than laundry duty, sandpits and day trips to Morecambe?"

"Fine, I get what you're saying… Anyone can change though, right? I just thought, since I'm so good with cleanliness and neatness…"

"You've not answered my question. Look, I get it – in this magical new Dumping Ground, I can do jigsaws with the kids and then you can tidy them up when I've gone home. _What about the army?_ "

"I don't want us to fight this early on–"

"Neither do I. All hail strong working relationships, et _cetera_ , et _cetera_ –"

"I really, _really_ missed you. When I was twelve, you were the coolest person I'd ever met. Even more than Gina."

"Ugh. I'm nobody's icon. I mean, it's nice to know you've been obsessing over me for however many years, but all I want to know is why you left the army. You've got nothing to hide… have you?"

Johnny sighed, swallowed away a little nervousness he felt creeping up into his throat. "… It was _very, very_ difficult. Let's just say I don't respond to teasing as well as I thought I do. Within two years I was out."

"Okay."

"… I left three broken arms behind me."

Elektra smiled an understanding smile, took Johnny's revelation in. "That's brave of you to share that. Thank you."

"Friends then?"

"Ugh. _Friends_. Yeah, whatever." Elektra got up and readjusted her jacket, as she slowly died, murdered by the sun in her own blue leather coffin. "Come on, you three," she addressed her friends. "I need to get home for _EastEnders_ eventually. Get the posters."

* * *

They protested and protested, and protested and protested. It started off as leaflets, flyers handed out to anybody they could ensnare.

As the afternoon wore on, the leaflets ran out. A woman in red told them she admired them for protesting against the council, _outside_ the council offices. The sun shone on, judging their efforts with its harsh glare.

The signs came out, thick biro on posterboard, on sticks. 'TELL THE COUNCIL TO GIVE US WHAT THEY PROMISED'. Wordy, but it worked – people were listening. The signs were waved enthusiastically, then too enthusiastically, then Johnny and Elektra were made to hold up a banner instead, whilst Carmen repaired their broken signs.

The council watched all of this from the comfort of their offices. _How silly_ , they all thought. After four hours, as the day slowly drew on, it was Jenny, sitting there with her almost-finished bottle of wine, who first thought, _It's been hours. Maybe we should do something?_

* * *

"My legs are tired!" protested Carmen.

"Can we go home?" pleaded Elektra.

"Not until we have our Dumping Ground back!" Mo cried.

An elderly man in a formal suit tapped on his shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"Yes?" Mo replied. "Do you want to help us get back what we were promised from the council?"

"I _am_ the council."

Mo gulped. "Uh…"

"Round your hypocrite friends up. We want to talk to you."

* * *

Carmen, Elektra, Mo and Johnny sat on chairs outside an office with an unbelievably posh-looking mahogany door furnished with an unbelievably smug brass plate reading 'Council Executives' in the poshest of typefaces. They felt like a gang of naughty schoolkids outside the headteacher's office. They'd been waiting for what seemed like centuries.

"Did we do wrong?" Mo asked nervously.

"I've never been in this much trouble before…" Carmen admitted.

"We did _fine_. We did _brilliant_ ," Elektra said enthusiastically, squeezing Carmen's hand.

The door opened. "Enter," it boomed, almost maliciously. Carmen looked to the others, gulped, and led them in.

* * *

"Do you _still_ not see your hypocrisy?" demanded an elderly, greying lady with a face like she'd sucked so many lemons that she was accustomed to it.

They had sat there for a good ten minutes already, four young adults against three ageing council executives, reliving the same arguments over and over again.

"You bribed us," she continued, "and then you expressed _outrage_ at our granting the contract for the land to somebody else."

"But they bribed you too!" protested Elektra.

"Do you have any proof for that?" ventured another executive.

"I've _told_ you what my proof is – they coughed up four days _after_ us, paid _double_ and you signed the next day! Jenny told me," Elektra lied.

The greying lady sighed heavily.

" _And_ she's been drinking on the job," Elektra added, certain that this would get Jenny in big trouble, and not caring about it at all.

"Ms Howle," an elderly, greying man began patronisingly, "this council _runs_ on bribes, on money. It always has. Money makes the _world_ go round – it's in short supply. We all need it. _Life_ runs on personal gains."

"No, it doesn't," Carmen retaliated. Until now she had been uncharacteristically quiet; in fact, even Mo had said more than her, making a vaguely convincing, rambling point about baby sparrows. Now was her time to talk. "Or at least it _shouldn't_."

"Uh, Carmen…" Johnny said.

"I've got it. I've realised."

"That the land is _not_ yours?" ventured an executive, petulantly.

"I'm so sorry. I… put my wants first; I wanted to get this land so much, be the mega-successful first-time careworker setting up her own care home, be in all the papers. I want to help orphans, but I also what _I_ want. Maybe I let that get in the way."

The greying lady smiled understandingly.

"And I didn't even consider anything apart from a protest!" continued Carmen, lost in her epiphanies. "I could have just taken, I don't know, taken a civil route, talked to you in a sensible way. I could have been a grown-up."

The greying lady spoke. "Yes, you could have…" She paused and looked reassuringly at her colleagues. "We stand by what we said, Ms Howle. The fact is, in troubling economic times, this council will take any money that makes itself available to us. Yours and your colleagues' behaviour today has been nothing short of disrespectful, _verging_ on criminal I suspect-". Her eyes were fixed on Elektra. "- _However_ , we admire your resilience, your determination and courage. Perhaps you've exposed flaws in our system. _Perhaps_ money shouldn't make the world go round. In any case, you've caused such a ruckus that we've decided to cancel the agreements with the housing company.

"Your carehome proposal was very well-planned, very _effectively_ planned, and I see no reason why it wouldn't be a success. Unfortunately, it's still not the top priority – there were other proposals submitted before it, and we have to offer the land to those first. It so happens that we'll be offering the land to another Young People's carehome."

" _What_?!" spluttered Elektra. "How's that fair? The _only_ proposals for the land were us and the houses! Where's this other carehome come from?"

"Well, the only proposals for the land _that were processed on my computer_ were yours and the housing company's," the greying lady – Jenny – clarified, shooting a knowing smile at Elektra. "This other carehome submitted their application well before you did."

"So… we're definitely not in with a chance?" Mo asked.

"After all the work Carmen's put in?" added Johnny.

"You seem like very clever young men and women, and you're intent on doing good for the community. That's admirable," Jenny smiled. "But you're all too young to run a carehome by yourselves. I can't see how it would work. My advice is to get yourselves down to this other carehome and try to get a job there – my understanding is that they're looking for staff, and we'd happily put in a good word for you all."

Carmen, Elektra, Mo and Johnny were overjoyed; they turned to each other and smiled, relieved. It might not have been the perfect outcome, but it certainly wasn't a bad one by any account.

* * *

 _What is bliss? True bliss – the type we all crave. The type we're all conditioned to crave._

 _The feeling that everything is right, that everything_ will _be right in the future. The feeling that nothing could ever stop you from happiness – is bliss more than happiness? The feeling of endless time, rolling out like a shining sea that keeps on lasting, forever and ever – the feeling that nobody can tell you what to do, that you are in control._

 _But surely that in itself is terrifying._

 _I don't think I've ever felt bliss – I've imagined it enough, but it's never been something I can have, never been something I can cherish. Life throws its hurdles at everyone, but some of us get thrown a handful more. I guess I'm one of the unlucky ones. Am I denied bliss for eternity, then?_

 _But maybe I am a fortunate one?_

 _Some people feel bliss – everything is fine, everything_ will _be fine – but then, suddenly, it is all taken away from them._

 _And maybe that is the cruellest thing of all._

* * *

The four friends sat together, again perched on Johnny's sofas. This time, the atmosphere wasn't cheap or simple or plain – it was celebratory, vibrant, new. Albeit tinged with sadness – they'd quickly realised that no carehome would ever employ all four of them (no carehome would ever _need_ all four of them). Mo had been the first to reluctantly back out – "well, I'll have a lot more time for my art, I suppose", he'd reasoned, full of apologies.

"And, to be honest, as much as I want to make it work, I just _know_ that you two deserve a shot at this the most," Johnny addressed the two women next to him.

"Oh Johnny, are you sure?" asked Elektra, her eyes lit up. "You could really have a go at this, make a difference – you could learn so much."

"Thanks, but seeing you all again has convinced me of some things. I don't know what I'll end up doing, but I know it'll be a big change. I can't just get angry or throw my weight around when things aren't going my way."

"Yeah, we learned that lesson too, today," sniggered Carmen, sipping white wine.

"We've _got_ to keep in touch, though," reasoned Johnny.

" _Properly_ , this time!" added Mo. "Elektra, I hadn't heard a _peep_ out of you until this morning. I'd nearly forgotten all about you!"

"Yeah, okay, I get the message."

"Anyway, well done, guys. A job well done, I think. Now we've just got to talk to these Waterland House people and see if they want us," said Carmen.

"Good luck," said Johnny. "I bet they'll be smug as anything."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, they were our competition for that land, and they won."

"Yeah, well I'm not going to just back down and be all flattering to them."

"Good on you!" smiled Mo.

"In _fact_ ," began Carmen, taking another sip of wine, "I might surprise them. Catch them unawares. Elektraaa?"

"Yes?"

"When you were snooping around in the council offices, you wouldn't have happened to have found out if the other carehome people were having any meetings with the council at any point, would you?"

* * *

Carmen flew down the drab corridors, followed by a scowl attached to a smile, who worked on reception at the council's offices.

"I'm sure I left it here, I know I did!" Carmen kept repeating, gesturing to her ear. "One of the earrings made it home, but as for the other one-!"

The scowl pursued her to the unbelievably posh-looking mahogany door. "There's a meeting going on in there," it barked. "Right now! You can wait here until it's finished."

"Honestly, I won't be a fuss," promised Carmen, pushing open the door.

She burst into the room. On one side of the desk sat the greying man who had been there two weeks before, remonstrating with her. On the other sat a man trying to look his smartest in a clearly rarely-used formal suit, and only half-succeeding.

"Ah, Ms Howle!" exclaimed the council executive. "What are you doing here? This is one of the people I was telling you about, Mr Milligan."

"Ms Howle?" the other man asked, slightly incredulity in his voice. He spun around in his chair to face the door. " _Carmen_?"

Carmen smiled her broadest smile. This was going to be _amazing_.

* * *

 **Hurray! Hope you enjoyed this chapter - don't forget to leave a review, because I'd love to hear your thoughts. This chapter was written 26 December 2015-14 November 2018.**

 **With all the groundwork now in place, Episode 3 begins the story properly, as Carmen and Elektra become careworkers at Waterland House. Here's a sneak preview:  
** The sun is out, the warm weather's rolling in - it's time for the Dumping Ground summer competition! The new careworkers Carmen and Elektra are determined for it to go off without a hitch - but the competitive atmosphere stimulates old rivalries, and the kids began to take the excitement as a license to settle old scores... One thing's for sure, it'll never be forgotten!  
 **Episode 3, "The Best", is coming next Friday (1 February).**


	3. The Best

Kids screamed and shouted everywhere.

" _HOW DID WE GET INTO THIS MESS?_ " screamed Carmen.

There then came a colossal crash as a door violently shuddered, just about clinging on to its hinges. A seventeen-year-old mass of annoyance and hair strolled along the corridor. As she swaggered up to the bathroom door she hollered, "Right! Whoever's in there, you're only making this bad for yourself! For every bit of this carpet that gets even _remotely_ soggy, that's money out of _your_ allowance! Now GET OUT OF THERE, and make this all better!"

Sheepishly, Sasha, a sixteen-year-old decked out in leather, stepped out of the bathroom. She saw the menacing look that met her, and instantly turned and pushed some towels onto the floor to mop up the water she had spilt.

Content, the girl with the hair turned to her next target – the ladder leading up to the attic. She needed to try something different here. Looking up to the top of the ladder, she addressed Jay and Bird, the two squabbling brothers, by beginning with a gloriously fake smile.

" _Boys_ ," she smiled. "What's happening here?"

Not taking his glare off Jay, Bird replied, " _He_ just crushed the Wii game."

" _Chill_!" insisted Jay aggressively. "I only sat on the case, not your stupid game! What's even the matter?"

"Well exactly!" the girl interrupted. "Bird, we'll buy a new case. If your game is fine, there's no problem. Jay, whatever you did, it's annoyed him, and I'm not surprised. Apologise, or Elektra will probably hit you."

The open-mouthed Elektra nodded furiously. Yes, she _would_ happily hit him.

Ignoring the vacant, surprised expressions on the stunned careworkers' faces, the girl with the hair next walked over to the pile of Lego bricks. Visibly impressed – but not surprised – that the shouts and screams were dying away, she neatly kicked the bricks all to one side, out of the way, before scooping up the robotic gerbil that had been running riot as it scurried past, her lightning-fast reactions finally ending the carnage as she flipped it over and flicked the off switch.

Pleased that this was all over, the girl ran a hand through her nest of brown curls and turned back to where the amazed careworkers stood.

"All sorted," she beamed.

"Wow," breathed Carmen. "That… that was quite something."

"Thanks," added Elektra.

"Well done for doing your job, guys," scoffed the girl in sarcastic response. She turned away and began to walk back to her room.

"Charlie?" Mike asked. Charlie turned back to them. "Could you maybe round everybody up in about fifteen minutes, and get them in the lounge?"

"Of course," Charlie replied. She walked away – job done.

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 3: "The Best"**

* * *

The three careworkers stood around the TV. The lounge was an almost cavernous space, occupying a large section of the ground floor of the house. It had the rare ability to be both functional and familiar; thickly-carpeted and brightly-lit, the room seemed to glow green and red – from the comfortable red armchairs and their plush green cushions dotted around, to the green wooden tables they surrounded, to the green bookshelves that lined the space. For some of the children, these shelves mapped out their lives – they were crammed not only with books, but with photographs, trinkets, mementoes, things that reminded every one of the house's residents of the things that were special to them… And if books furnish a room, then the lounge was fantastically furnished. Sunlight flooded in through high arch-shaped windows framed with red curtains, hitting a pool table, a fireplace and the enormous TV. The lounge of Waterland House certainly felt like home.

"Charlie handled that _so well_ ," Carmen conceded.

"Why couldn't _we_ though? There were _three_ of us," Elektra worried.

"They look up to her – she's the eldest," mused Carmen. It was true. At seventeen, Charlie was fast becoming the leader of the house – part role model, part figure of fun, imbued with intelligence, kindness, spirituality and mischief in equal quantities. A nest of brown curls sat atop her head, and she was always dressed with a smile – at least at first.

"But all of us are older than her!" argued Elektra.

"Hey, hey, it's fine," decided Mike, looking up to see Charlie leading the other nine children in. "These are odd times, for _everybody_. _You_ have only been working here for two weeks, and _they_ – they've only been _living_ here for two weeks! They're bound to be excited, and you're bound to have some issues along the way. Don't worry about it; I've got every faith in you both."

"Thanks, Mike," smiled Carmen.

"Right, this should be fun," said Mike, bracing himself.

They all waited for a few moments while the ten children got cosy in their chairs and settled themselves down on beanbags.

"Roll up, roll up, kids!" roared Mike. "And find out what festivities we have in store for you."

"This is _properly exciting_ ," began Carmen.

"Don't you always say that?" questioned Sasha in an ever-so-slightly mocking tone. She was certain that, at sixteen, she was old enough not to need any careworkers in her life; the careworkers were certain that she needed them very much.

"Yeah, you did say that about that day out to the mouldy old castle," pointed out Floss.

"And that terrible holiday club," added Ryan.

"And that time you bought a different type of jelly," smirked Chloe.

"As long as I always _mean_ it, I can say it whenever I want," retorted Carmen. "So here's today's news: it's sunny. It's _definitely_ not going to rain. It's summer! So… today we're having… a summer competition!"

The news was met with the most lukewarm reaction imaginable. Ryan threw his head in his hands; Jay jumped for joy. Carmen was undeterred. "Listen, Elektra and I don't really know all of you – we need to get to know each other properly, and this means we can do that, whilst having fun. It'll be great!"

"What are we actually going to _do_ , then?" Charlie wondered.

"Simple," interjected Mike. "There are five rounds, and you'll be in pairs. You can pick your partner, but be wary – these rounds won't be easy. We've deliberately picked things that we know you're going to find tricky."

"Why?" asked Bird, a quiet fifteen-year-old who always seemed to be a little bit on edge, buzzing with nervous energy.

"Because it'll be funny for us to see you _fail_ ," taunted Elektra.

"So the rounds are…" began Carmen, trying to find the notebook with the list of rounds written on it, "…Bake-off!" There came a loud collective groan. "Egg and spoon. A story-writing competition!"

Elektra continued, "Painting – that'll definitely be… interesting – and finally … well, we're not revealing what that round is just yet. But the winning pair will be pitted against each other in a round that will change your life _forever_."

There came an 'oooh' that mixed enthusiasm and sarcasm.

"What do we win?" Ryan piped up.

"You'll find that out, _if_ you win," Elektra responded.

"So come on!" Carmen shouted. "Pair up, get ready! You have ten minutes to find a recipe, ready for the Bake-off round. Let the summer competition commence!"

* * *

"What are you _doing_?" Elektra asked incredulously as she stared at a haphazardly-assembled row of ingredients. Meanwhile Joseph took a hearty sniff of a jar of some kind of spice and almost passed out.

"Well, we only had ten minutes!" Jay said defensively, unwilling to admit that cookery would never be a skill he possessed.

"Well, I'm sure you tried. I've never had custard- and jam-flavoured biscuits before," Elektra scoffed. "If I begin to feel even the slightest bit poisoned, I'll make sure you take a great big bite of them too. Both of you." She mischievously glared at Bird and Jay.

Bird didn't respond; he never did. He barely reacted – hidden under his short black curls, he merely glanced at Elektra, but his lack of response wasn't down to rudeness. That was just how Bird was.

"Right, everyone, your attention please!" said Mike. " _Welcome_ to the first round… our first ever Bake-Off! You've got one hour to get whatever you're making in the oven, then we'll let it cook, get on with the next round."

The kitchen was another large space, resplendent in white and brown. A white onyx breakfast bar ran in a half-moon shape in the middle of the space, backing onto some of the large cupboards with their wooden fronts. Worktops, two ovens and a sink jostled for space alongside the double-size fridge, and a large wooden table dominated the other half of the space, laid for twelve.

"And remember…" added Elektra, scanning the kids' workstations. "Whilst I'm secretly hoping for you all to be in bursts of tears by the end of this, and while you'd make me _proud_ if you sabotaged this whole competition, let's play by the rules."

"Ready, steady… BAKE!" chirped Carmen enthusiastically, settling down in a chair to watch over what was happening.

The competition had begun. And nobody wanted to lose.

* * *

 _Competition: why? Such a bizarre concept, an inexplicable construct. We strive to be 'the best' – but what defines 'the best'? Someone considered the worst in one competition could be the best in another, but if that skill was never assessed they'd still be seen as inferior. When does competition ever fairly represent who we are? And why seek superiority for things that don't truly matter to us?_

 _We can do terrible things in the name of competition, commit atrocities for superiority. Sabotage is easy when you want to be the best._

* * *

The hour had passed, horrible cupcakes had been made, and now it was time for the next round.

"Leave everything in the oven," advised Carmen, swooping into the kitchen. "And follow me… for the egg and spoon competition!"

The kids discarded their aprons and noisily traipsed after Carmen, heading for the garden. All except for Tyler. He quickly scanned the room, headed over to Ryan's and Chloe's, and turned it off. Job done, no sweat.

He quickly caught up with the others and filed into the garden. He knew he had to do it. Ryan was the only one who challenged his right to have fun, always asking _why_ he always messed around. Why _not_? It was fun! What's the point in living life if you can't have any fun? Better that, than being a Ryan-level misery-guts. Anyway, a little oven sabotage would teach him not to be so mean.

"Come on Tyler!" Carmen called. "This'll be such a fun round for you, two-left-feet!"

" _Anybody's_ gonna seem like they have two left feet when they're dealing with cutlery and plastic eggs," he responded dryly.

* * *

The end was in sight.

"Yes… YES!" screamed the spectators.

Ryan surged over the line, smiling to himself as he turned to the applauding children.

"Thank you, thank you," he beamed, bowing sarcastically. "Er… can I get a drink? My… head feels… a bit… dizzy."

"Of course you can, but be back soon – we'll need you again!" Mike said.

Ryan flashed a pitiful smile at Tyler, turned on his heels and marched inside. _Ugh, Tyler!_ He promised himself he wouldn't get worked up about him because he was _definitely_ better than that, and better than _him_ , but he'd clearly been trying to kick him for the whole race. That or he just had _very_ big, clumsy feet. Either way, that clumsiness nearly cost him the win, and he wanted this prize – whatever it was.

Ryan wouldn't stand for it. He'd think of something. He was a mischievous boy, constantly causing trouble since arriving at the Dumping Ground: fuelled by manipulation, more competitive than he let on, and a master at overhearing private conversations. As he stepped into the kitchen, stooping to check his oven, he found it turned off.

Well this wouldn't do.

A thought popped into his head. A plan formed. Stealthily, he crept over to Tyler's oven and opened it, before swapping ovens with him, leaving _Tyler's_ baking in a stone-cold oven and _his_ cookies in the cosy confines of a perfectly _on_ oven.

Now time to drop Sasha, the other nuisance, in it too. As he returned to the garden, Ryan bent down to where Tyler lounged on the grass, whispering "Your oven's been turned off, and I think Sasha did it. She was acting really shifty." She smiled an innocent smile. "Just thought you should know."

* * *

"So… for example you might begin with 'The dragon _swooped_ and roared and… hurled _fire_ all throughout the land, but… the _prince_ picked up his sword from where it lay and courageously dashed forward, through the trees, gazing at the-"

" _Or…_ " barked Elektra, interrupting Carmen's epic, "you could do ' _My name is Carmen Howle_ '," she spoke with a mellifluous yet mocking tone, "' _And I lie here, at the bottom of the towering stairs, with a hole in my heart and a bullet in my brain_.'"

"Yeah!" beamed Sasha with childish enthusiasm.

"No!" shouted Mike, trying to restore order. "Either way, you have an hour to write whatever you can. Go!"

Children scurried in all directions; Jay and Bird trundled, relaxed, to their small room, unaware that Sasha was waiting just behind. As they sidled into the room and shut the door, Sasha nonchalantly stood by it, ready to overhear _everything_.

Inside, the two boys began to write their story.

"Well _I'm_ clearly not going to write any stories," summarised Jay. "And I love you, Bird, but neither are you." His brother didn't bother to argue. "So our best bet is the Internet. Something off a blog – not something published, that would be too obvious," he mused. "Can I leave you to find something? I don't know try typing 'Story blog careworker' and print the first thing you find. _You_ do that, _I_ have unfinished business to sort out with Joseph."

Sasha, sitting outside the room, was finding this conversation incredibly interesting; between looking up and down the corridor to make sure she wasn't being noticed by anyone, she had listened to most of it, and-

The door swung open, eliciting a shocked gasp from Sasha as she was sent flying onto the carpet.

"Um… Sasha? What are you doing?" asked Jay.

"Oh, I… I was checking the plug sockets, see if I could use one for my charger," Sasha lied quickly, getting back on her feet.

"And have you checked?"

"Er… yep."

"And can you use it?"

"Yes, all good. Good… good plug sockets you've got in this corridor."

"Is everything sorted then?"

"Completely."

"Okay, you can go now then, can't you?"

Sasha gave a pained smile and hastily retreated back to Floss's room; she flung the door open and stormed in.

"I got caught," she confessed. " _But_ I heard enough. We've got this in the bag."

"What are they writing then?" asked Floss, eyes widening in response.

"They're not writing _anything_ – they're cheating!"

"What a surprise!" exclaimed Floss sarcastically. "Do you know, I'd never have expected that!"

"They're printing something off a blog."

Floss paused for a moment, thinking things through, turning this new knowledge over in her mind like a rotisserie as she fired her powers of manipulation at it. She was really starting to get into this summer competition.

"Let's be clever about this, Sasha. Do you know _exactly_ what they're printing?" she crooned with her thick, cheeky Geordie accent. Floss was a textbook case of Dumping Ground corruption – beginning her time in care as a quiet six-year-old, her powers of sarcasm, bossiness and mischief had blossomed so that she now assumed the role of a mini-dictator, always taking charge of her friends and bossing them around. This was no different.

"Well, I know what Jay told Bird to do."

"Good work. Let's do the same," she smiled.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jay crept silently down the thickly-carpeted staircase, along a disconcertingly orange corridor, and into the kitchen. He had never liked Tyler (always trying to be the centre of attention, always _becoming_ it without any questions asked); now, he could make his feelings known.

The boy tiptoed over to what he presumed to be Tyler's oven; of course, it had been half an hour since Ryan had swapped his and Tyler's ovens, but Jay wasn't to know that, as he gleefully turned the temperature up as high as it would go.

* * *

Carmen and Elektra glided into the lounge, plumping themselves down into armchairs. All the assembled children were, oddly, completely at attention.

"Well, this feels… weird," Elektra began.

"Like a strange little book club," Carmen agreed.

"We're all too young to be in a book club!"

"Aww Elektra, you still consider yourself young?" said Carmen patronisingly, eliciting a shared laugh from the children – a laugh that immediately stopped when Elektra turned to glare at them.

"Me and me creaky knees," rasped Elektra, mimicking an old toothless woman's voice.

"Right, gang," began Mike, addressing the room. "We've scored each team so far, and it's looking pretty much neck-and-neck. We are now ready and waiting for some of the _greatest_ literary works of all time. Our expert panel of judges is expecting _beauty_ , and _style_ , and _control_ – we want the prose to flow like _wine_! … No, don't worry, I'm not expecting much really."

The kids all started protesting about how much effort they'd put in.

"Charlie and Joseph!" shouted Mike above the din. "Your story, please."

Joseph stood up, waddled over to Elektra, and presented her with several handwritten pages, in beautiful, perfectly-aligned cursive.

"' _The Strangest Tears are the Tears of a Stranger'_ ," Elektra read. "How profound."

"Charlie wrote most of it. Well, all of it," said Joseph almost apologetically.

"Good. Then that means I'm expecting bizarre psychoanalysis, messed-up social commentary and the most depressing climax since my second girlfriend," Elektra smiled. Carmen chuckled. Mike shot daggers into Elektra, and she gave him a meaningful apologetic look before turning back to the story. "Thank you very much, guys!"

Carmen called, "Jay and Bird, I'll have what you wrote."

"Floss, Sasha – I'll take yours, too."

The two teams shuffled forward, handing over their stories.

"' _The Care Kids' Adventure_ ," read Carmen and Elektra at the same time.

"Erm… what's happened here?" Mike pondered.

"I think we've been given the same story."

"You copied?" Floss asked incredulously, her voice rising.

"No, YOU did," accused Jay.

Suddenly Sasha became angry. "And WHY would _we_ copy?"

"Well, why would WE?"

"ADMIT IT – COPYCAT!"

"CHEAT!"

"LIAR!"

"ENOUGH!" roared Mike, shocking himself with this angry outburst.

The fire alarm began to furiously beep. Something was burning.

* * *

And so things panned out in more or less the right way. The burning food had been extinguished and Jay severely reprimanded when he confessed to it; he had been sent to his room for the rest of the afternoon, but this meant nothing as his and Bird's team were never going to win. Questions had been asked about why the ovens had swapped, but Ryan managed to make the careworkers forget anything had even happened.

Horrible biscuits had been gingerly tasted, scores had been added up, Carmen had made pasta for tea, everyone had eaten the tea, the painting round had been started and then abandoned when Bird, participating as a one-man team, 'accidentally' spilt paint on everyone else's pictures, and finally it had been announced that Tyler and Jody were the clear winners.

Now for the life-changing final.

* * *

Tyler and Jody knelt on the floor on opposite sides of the same small table, all semblance of teamwork forgotten; now it was a case of winner takes all.

"So," announced Carmen as she brushed past the crowd of children to reach the two finalists in the centre of the living room. "Congratulations for making it this far. You've used your creativity, talent, cunning and skill admirably to make it this far. Your prize, if you win, will be an entire week completely chore-free."

There came a semi-excited 'ooh' from the kids.

"So what exactly is the task you'll be completing for this life-changing grand final?" asked Carmen mysteriously.

"It's…" announced Mike. " _Jennnn-gaaaa_!" He enunciated the word in a semi-whisper, like it was a mystical incantation.

Tyler's eyes widened; anything involving coordination and sitting still was not going to be good for him.

Quickly the tower of wooden blocks was assembled, and Elektra announced that the final had begun. Glaring offputtingly at Jody, Tyler focused on the tower.

The tension was unbearable as Jody reached down, removed a block and delicately placed it on top of the tower. Tyler's turn. Fighting against the electric atmosphere of almost _intoxicating_ anticipation, he reached and artfully whipped a block out from the tower…

Which _immediately_ fell down.

A ferocious cheer burst out from everyone present. Jody stood up and jumped around, soaking in the cheers, half-hearing the careworkers congratulating her over the eruption of enthusiasm in the room: she had won the summer competition!

* * *

"Bloody hell," said Elektra, her eyes bulging as she trounced into the office. "It was in the _cupboards_ , on the _walls_ , in the _cereal_ , on the _fire alarm_ … Why do you _always_ give us – them, whatever – paint? It always ends like this." She noticed a splodge of purple on her wrist and irritably tried to wipe it off.

"Hey, at least you weren't scraping burnt biscuits out of their tin," reasoned Carmen as she pulled a grey coat on and checked that her desk was cleared of paperwork. "That wasn't exactly a nice job, either."

"At least the kids had fun," smiled Mike. "And all in all, _I_ for one think it's been a great success. Let's do it _every_ week!" He laughed as the other two careworkers recoiled.

"Right, see you in the morning, yeah?" said Carmen from the doorway.

"Yes, yeah. Have a nice night!" wished Mike. "One more thing, Elektra." He stopped Elektra before she reached the door. " _Please_ just think about the language you're using around the kids. _I_ might find your jokes quite funny, but some of them are just toeing the line a little, okay? Got it?"

"Got it," nodded Elektra. "Thanks for pointing it out."

"Well, you're new, you're bound to have some teething troubles, like I said. Thanks for all your help today."

"So you think my jokes are _quite_ funny, do you?" asked Elektra, changing the subject.

"Well, for a young uncultured whippersnapper like yourself. Ah, if only you were round in the good old days of Blackadder, Fawlty Towers! Now _those_ were really funny."

"Absolutely no idea what any of those words mean," said Elektra under her breath as she left the office. "Goodnight!" she called.

Mike watched Elektra leave, turned his attention to the kids. They were sitting in front of the TV, clad in snuggly pyjamas and patterned onesies. A film was playing, but nobody was watching; they were all fast asleep. He smiled, and reflected on the day. Not all of it had gone to plan, and there had been messy moments along the way, but he would never forget it.

And the best part? Well, since they were all asleep: extra popcorn for _him_!

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! If you did, I'd love if you left a review, because it's great to know what you're thinking. Thanks to CharlieSMarts12 and JustARavenclawDragonRider for your feedback so far; it really means a lot.**

 **Bit of behind-the-scenes stuff: for this story, I'm using a little bit of creative licence and ret-conning a few things. I've taken my favourite characters from the current Dumping Ground cast and put them in this story, and left behind the ones I don't particularly like, or who I couldn't conceivably justify being in this story. Just try and forget about the ones who aren't there. So, for reference, the kids in this story are: Jody, Tyler, Sasha, Ryan, Chloe, Floss, Joseph, Jay, Bird and Charlie (for the moment). Also, at times I might be a little fuzzy with the continuity - again, I'd appreciate it if you could let it slide. I'm not 100% up to date with all the developments in the TV show, so I'm just trying to tell the best stories I can using my own groundwork as much as possible. :)**

 **This chapter was written back in 2016 and rewritten in November 2018 (written 10 January 2016-18 November 2018), so it's good for it to finally see the light of day!** **From now on, the episodes have all been written very recently (as opposed to the first three chapters, which I wrote in late 2015-early 2016). As a consequence of this, they're all quite a bit longer (hovering around the 5,000-6,000 word mark) - I hope you enjoy them. Here's a sneak preview of episode 4, in which a spanner is royally thrown in the works:**  
Nearly robbed by two unkempt children in the supermarket, imagine Jay and Bird's surprise when they learn that these kids don't seem to exist! Absent from all official registers, Aisha and Rafiq have lived a life of solitude that they just can't stand any longer. Faced with the dilemma of what to do with them, the Dumping Ground must make the massive decision. Meanwhile, it's Floss's dad's wedding, but she's worried that he won't even turn up for his big day!  
 **Episode 4, "The Children Who Didn't Exist", is coming next Friday (8 February).**


	4. The Children Who Didn't Exist

"Okay," began Elektra. "Boys, this is your mission, crucial to the future of the Dumping Ground, should you choose to accept it." She paused dramatically. "Two cartons of soya milk, four semi-skimmed, and as much yoghurt as you can carry."

"Right, I think…" paused Jay dramatically, scanning the aisles eagerly. "I _think_ we can manage it."

"Well, frankly, good! You have one aisle to manage – if you muck this up we'll deliberately repel any potential foster parents so you have to live with us _forever_."

"Nobody wants that."

Elektra raised an eyebrow.

"And what if we see something we want?" checked Bird.

"You can have one thing each, and I _mean_ one. I'll be a couple of aisles away, you can't go wrong. Right, go! Scram! Off you go!" Elektra glided away, leaving the two boys stranded in the midst of an onslaught of dairy.

Whilst quietly chatting, they moved along the shelves, scanning for the food they were supposed to find. Jay wandered aimlessly along entirely the wrong aisle, committing each product name to memory as he traced a line along the shelves with his finger – and that was when it happened.

The boy appeared first. Out of nowhere.

He violently grabbed Jay's enormous Afro, pulled his head down, and shoved him with more might than his size would suggest possible. Jay collapsed to the cold supermarket floor, observed by precisely zero onlookers.

The girl arrived next; the smell followed her.

She snatched the £10 note that Jay was carrying, then she ran, followed by the boy. They managed three metres, before smacking into Bird's open arms. The harsh force sent Bird hurtling backwards, and sent the girl's thick-framed, loose-fitting, transparent-moon glasses sailing through the air. They landed on the vinyl floor, just in time for Elektra to idly crush them.

The two boys cringed and Elektra looked down in confusion; upon seeing the crushed plastic heap, her face crumpled with worry, and she guiltily flustered her way to the girl.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "I really didn't mean to do that, it was an accident."

"How could you do that?" demanded the boy, slightly older than his companion. Elektra instantly picked up the tone of anger in his voice, as well as something indescribable that suggested he was in a hurry.

"I'll pay for a new pair," offered Elektra. "Where are your parents? We can sort something out, I'm sure."

The girl and the boy looked from side to side, searching for a distraction.

"We–" began the girl.

"No, we _won't_ help them!" exclaimed Jay in protest, marching up to the children. He and Bird had witnessed the whole conversation whilst dusting themselves down from the shock attack. "Not when they just stole our money!"

Elektra's eyes widened. " _Did_ you do that?" she interrogated, searching the kids' eyes. Without a word, the girl handed over the £10 note to Jay.

"We're going to have to have a word about this," said Elektra.

"Yeah!" Bird chimed. "Where are your parents?"

"They're… not here," the boy reluctantly admitted.

"Me and my brother… we don't _have_ parents…" added the girl, nervously trailing off at the end.

"So you're related, then!" surmised Jay.

"What about carers? Guardians? Friends?" asked Elektra. "Anyone?" Her reply came in the form of two solemn shaking heads.

"Impossible!" Jay bellowed. "How can you not have _anyone_?"

"It could be possible," whispered Bird. "They don't seem cared-for – look at their clothes."

"Yeah, and they _stink_!" chimed Jay. The brother and sister looked up; there was genuine hurt in their eyes. If Jay recognised it, it didn't bother him. "And they were stealing: in all the films, if a child is stealing it's because they're starving to death or something."

"So what do we do?" hissed Elektra. A pause. "Be nice," she resolutely answered herself.

"Excuse me, miss?" the boy asked. "Can we go now?"

"Please?" whimpered his sister.

Elektra turned to face them, surveying the pair for the first time; they were both young-looking – the boy was clearly older, perhaps approaching ten years old, whilst his sister could have been anything from six to eight – and were dressed in curious almost-clothes. The boy was in a ripped brown T-shirt, baggy brown shorts and a sheepskin coat, and his short black greasy hair stuck up at odd angles from his scalp. His sister, by far the smaller of the two, was dressed in a hideous, oversized, floral-pattern smock with a barely-fitting navy body-warmer on top. She had an unkempt raven's-feathers tangle of jet-black hair. Together they embodied the urchin image.

"How about this?" Elektra said. "If you don't want me to report you to the police, then you're gonna do a few things for me. First – you're gonna tell me your names. Then – if it's all right with you, and if you really don't have anyone waiting for you, then we have a little… _excursion_ to go on." She beamed.

Jay and Bird looked at each other in bewilderment. Was she mad?

* * *

A minute or two later, the four kids and Elektra found themselves traipsing down the high street. The siblings had introduced themselves as Peppa and George; Elektra was having none of it. She was open to pretty much any idea, but in her experience people called Peppa tended to have white skin, not brown.

She stopped and pushed a door open. She ushered the children in, then stepped past them and up to the counter.

"Good morning!" she fakely beamed to the orange lady behind the counter. She was doing her imitation posh voice, the one she used on the phone to Vodafone trying to tell them that no, somebody must have forgotten to put a decimal point in, there was no way Sasha's bill was that high, oh if only she wasn't so busy helping orphans live fulfilling lives, she might have more time for things like this. "I'd like to book two of the free children's eyes tests, please."

Ah. An optician's. Jay and Bird turned around to see rows and rows of glasses of all shapes and sizes, accompanied by contact lenses swimming in gloopy solution; then they noticed 'Peppa' and 'George', who were gawping as if this were a palace, and the boys couldn't help themselves from smirking.

"Of course, madam," beamed the orange lady, her cheerful tone equally fake but more nasal than Elektra's. "What are your children's names? As they appear in the database, if you don't mind."

Elektra turned to the siblings. "Come on kids, do you want to tell the lady your names?"

She looked at the boy. Gotcha. An NHS database of every child in the United Kingdom and an optician who needed their names: Elektra was going to find out the truth.

The boy pushed forward and uneasily muttered. "Aisha Al Saeed. Rafiq Al Saeed."

A few clicks of a keyboard. A puzzled expression. The results: "I'm so sorry, madam," the bemused shop lady whined. "I can't seem to find any profiles that match your children in the database. This doesn't normally happen – could they be registered under a different name?"

Elektra began to nudge the kids towards the door.

"Er… yes, yes, very probably," she gabbled, the posh mask slipping a little as she left. "They'll be under one of my old surnames, from one of my old husbands. I'm not sure which one to choose from, there've been so many! Ha ha, such fun! I'll be back later, don't you worry! Ta-ta now!"

She ushered Jay, Bird, Aisha and Rafiq along the street. This was very interesting. Somehow, Elektra had managed to pick up the children who didn't exist.

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 4: "The Children Who Didn't Exist"**

* * *

"How can that _happen_?" asked Bird in his soft, unintrusive tones. "How can two children just go completely undetected? It doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe there's, like, a top-secret reason for it," offered Jay. "Maybe they've _had_ to keep their identities a secret... because the police are after them!"

"Don't be silly." Bird began to flick through a comic book, keeping one ear out to listen to Jay's ridiculous commentary.

"Okay, well maybe-"

"Nope." Bird didn't want to have to hear this.

"Maybe they were grown in a lab and released into the wild, so that's why they're not in any databases."

"It's unlikely, isn't it?"

"Ooh, ooh! They could be illegal immigrants, so they've not been registered in this country, so it seems like they don't exist – right?"

"Jay, it doesn't matter! It's _their_ business, not yours! Anyway, why not just ask them?"

"Ohhhh yeah," said Jay, like the idea had only just now occurred to him. "I'll do that, then. Thanks, bro!"

Bird rolled his eyes as Jay bounded out of the room.

* * *

"How can that _happen_?" asked Elektra, after she'd summarised the whole situation to Mike in the office at Waterland House. "Not on the databases, no record of their existence, completely unknown. That just doesn't make sense, right?"

"Well, I'll admit, I've not heard anything like it before," conceded Mike, sipping his tea. "But that doesn't mean there isn't a reasonable explanation for all of this."

"Do you know the worst part? They're telling the truth about it all, I just _know_ it," said Elektra, glancing through the windows into the quiet room, a blue-carpeted box room where Aisha and Rafiq sat bolt upright next to each other on the sofas. "I mean, going to the trouble of getting caught, all for the sake of stealing ten pounds – that says a _lot_ , Mike. And they were chomping at the bit to come back with us – to be honest, I think they just wanted to have a roof over their heads."

"Well, you know I'm not _best_ pleased with two surprise guests, Elektra. I sent you out for groceries, not children. _But_ -" he clarified, noticing that Elektra's mouth was wide open and ready to argue. "-I completely understand your rationale. I think you made the right decision."

"What do we do _now_ , then?"

"Well, I'll have to speak to social services, no doubt, and see what they can come up with."

"Isn't that a bit…"

"What?"

"Hasty?"

"How do you mean?" asked Mike, puzzled. "We can't just... take them in! We've got no idea who they even _are_!"

"Yeah, exactly, Mike! Where's your sense of adventure? We've got to find _out_ who they are – you can't just send them on to somebody else! They're _our_ responsibility. At least make an effort to find out their story before we let social services on them."

"Elektra, you know as well as I do that it's social services' _job_ to find out their story. Don't know if you've noticed, but we've got kids of our own to look after! Ten of the little blighters!"

" _Mike_. Trust me on this when I say that social services aren't always the most sympathetic."

"Elektra-"

" _No_! Mike, give me a chance!"

Mike backed off, hesitantly nodded his head. "Okay, see what you can do. But if you've drawn a blank by three, I'm ringing them."

* * *

In the living room, most of the kids sat on sofas and cross-legged on the floor. They formed a little council, huddled in a circle. Everybody was looking at Jay and Bird.

"So what are they called?" asked Ryan.

"The girl's called Aisha, her brother's Rafiq," replied Bird.

"Okay, and what are they like?" ventured Charlie.

"What are they _like_? They're _thieves_!" exclaimed Jay. "They tried to rob me, they tried to push me over!" ("More than 'tried'", his brother muttered).

The gaggle of children started to whisper to each other excitedly.

"What's this thing about them not existing?" Sasha asked. "Seems a bit strange, if you ask me."

From where they stood, unseen by the other kids, just outside the doorway to the living room, Rafiq squeezed his sister's hand.

The living room was beginning to erupt into a barrage of questions, kids talking over each other, four or five at a time. Questions, questions, questions, on and on and on:

"How did you meet them?" "What did they do to you?" "Who are they?" "What did Elektra say?" "Do they smell?" "Did Elektra really crush someone's glasses?" "How can they not exist?" "Who are they?" "Is it true that they punched Bird?" "Why did you bring them back?" "What are you gonna do with them?" "Who are they?" "Where did they come from?" "Who are they?"

"It's ok," Rafiq whispered to Aisha, just outside the living room. She shook her head and motioned to her ears. Rafiq knew what she meant. "IT'S OK!" he bellowed, thinking he wouldn't be heard above the racket.

It was just a little too loud.

The living room fell silent. "What was that?" asked Jody. All heads swivelled round to the doorway, where Rafiq and Aisha stood, glued to the spot, like a picture in a gallery.

"Whoops," said Sasha awkwardly.

Rafiq grabbed Aisha by the hand, and they ran.

* * *

Floss smoothed down her light green dress, did a little twirl in the mirror. She thought she looked a bit too posh, like she was trying a bit too hard. But special days like this only came round once in a blue moon, so why not make the effort? After all, it was her dad's wedding day, and she hadn't seen him properly for months and months.

She stood up on her tiptoes and fished about in the back of her wardrobe, retrieving a little pink velvet box. Carefully, she opened it – inside was a shining silver pendant. She'd never really got the chance to wear it before. Taking it slowly out of its padding, she brought the necklace up to her neck, unhooked the fiddly clasp and tried to tie the two halves back together-

The door banged open! In shock, Floss dropped the necklace and it went flying to the floor. She reached down, angrily shouting "What did you do that for?" As she picked up the necklace, she finally looked up at who had come in: two children she _definitely_ didn't recognise. "Oh… hello."

* * *

"He's been working abroad for ages," Floss explained as she checked her hair in the mirror. Aisha and Rafiq sat next to each other on the bed, intently listening. "I only get to see him in real life about once every year. The rest of the time I talk to him on Skype – when he's not too busy, like."

"What's Skype?" asked Aisha inquisitively.

"You don't know what Skype is?" Floss fired back incredulously. "Oh where have you been _living_? It's great, you get to talk to people even when they're miles and miles away from you. On the computer."

"What's the computer?" asked Aisha. Rafiq shushed her, clasped her hand in his.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me," said Floss.

"We're just a bit confused right now. Everyone was asking questions downstairs. My sister didn't like it. She was… scared," Rafiq explained.

"Oh, and I suppose _you_ were fine with it?"

" _Yeah_ ," retorted Rafiq. "… no. It was scary."

"I understand," said Floss comfortingly, dabbing something on her face. "It's always scary when you're new. I was only six when I came here – now _that_ was scary."

"I'm seven," said Aisha. Rafiq clenched her hand.

"Ah, cool," Floss smiled. "What about you, Rafiq?"

"I'm ten."

"Nearly as old as me, then. You don't need to worry about everyone asking questions. They're just interested 'cos you're new."

"Who _are_ you all?"

"We're care kids. Our parents aren't around anymore to look after us… so Mike and Carmen and Elektra do it instead."

"Our parents aren't around anymore, either," said Rafiq glumly.

"… Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Floss put the makeup brush down and sat on the bed next to the siblings. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

"It was just after we came over the sea."

"Mum got sick," said Aisha, her calm demeanour a change to her brother's; Floss noticed a tear running down his cheek, but she didn't say anything. "She said we couldn't get any help even though she was sick. She said we couldn't tell anybody about it."

"Dad made her go to hospital eventually, but they took mum and dad away. So we ran. We stayed quiet. We didn't tell anybody what happened. Just like mum said."

"Are we in trouble?" asked Aisha all of a sudden.

"No, it's ok," said Floss, forcing a smile to break through the sea of sadness that had clouded her mind. "But _only_ if you do something for me."

"What is it?" enquired Rafiq cautiously.

"You've got to tell the adults." The siblings gasped. "I _know_ , I know your mum told you not to, but you've told _me_ and you're not in trouble, right? So _please_ tell the adults. Tell Mike; he's the old one with no hair. They're not bad people, really, and they can help you, make sure you don't get in trouble. Can you do that?"

* * *

"Where _is_ he?" roared Floss, fidgeting with a bobble she'd found tied around her wrist. The wedding was due to start in five minutes, and there was absolutely no sign of her dad! He'd been late for things before, even missed them entirely – but surely he couldn't miss this?

"Hey, Floss, it's fine!" Carmen said reassuringly. "No need to worry – it could be traffic, or a wardrobe malfunction, or the car went the wrong way, or _anything_ like that."

"It's the most important day of his whole life, and he's not even here for it!"

"Well… yes, I see where you're coming from. But just have faith – I'm sure it'll be alright. He loves you, and more importantly he loves Mel, and there's no way he'd miss this for the world. I know _I_ wouldn't."

An elegantly-dressed older lady with a sweeping wave of white-flecked hair sashayed up to Floss. "Ah, little Flossie! My my, haven't you grown since I last saw you!"

"Do you know where dad is?" Floss panicked.

"That was what I was going to ask _you_ , actually," said the woman, beginning to feel the contagious effects of Floss's panicked expression.

Floss turned to Carmen. "See? He's going to miss it – I just _know_ he is!"

Carmen thought it might be better not to repeat the same old lines yet again; she just sat in her chair and kept her concerns on the inside.

* * *

The clock ticked onto one o'clock, chiming throughout the house.

"You're pushing it, Elektra. Two more hours."

"Mike, I don't even know where they _are_! How can I find out their story if I can't find _them_?"

"Maybe it just isn't meant to be. Maybe we've bitten off more than we can chew. Need I remind you again, Elektra, this shouldn't be our job. Which reminds me: speaking of biting off more than we can chew, let's get this lot fed. Mmm-mmm, Special Soup Sunday, my favourite!"

He whirled around to find Aisha and Rafiq standing nervously in the doorway, two tiny figures in ill-fitting mismatched clothes.

"Are you the old one with no hair?" asked Rafiq.

* * *

11:59am. She couldn't wait any longer – this was _unbearable_. Where was he?

Floss got up out of her seat, barged past a protesting Carmen, and ran out of the room. She had to find him. He couldn't be late for something like this. He just _couldn't_.

As she stood, raging, in the middle of the church's entrance space, the creaking main doors swung open and her flustered-looking father burst into the room, pushing his hair down flat with one hand and adjusting a lapel with the other.

"Floss!" he smiled, forgetting about his lapel and opening his arms wide for a big hug. Instinctively, Floss slotted into his arms and felt his warmth, felt nothing but happy to see him. But then she remembered the circumstances.

"How _could_ you?" she asked incredulously. "The most important day of your whole _life_ , and you're late!"

"No, Floss, it wasn't-it wasn't like that."

"I don't care _what_ it was like! _Whatever_ was holding you up, you should have _thought_ about it before you set off. You _should_ have been ready." Her voice was getting louder and louder, she realised. A few confused heads in the church turned to locate the source of the commotion.

"I know, Floss, I know-"

"Do you know, I don't think you _do_ ," she huffed. "You're supposed to _love_ Mel. This is supposed to be the big day where you _tell_ everyone how much you love Mel! And you couldn't even be on time. And what about _me_?!"

"Flossie, something came up-"

" _Eight months_ , I've been waiting to see you! I thought we could talk for a bit before the wedding, but _ohhh nooo,_ as usual, 'something came up'. It's like I don't even _exist_!"

She stormed off and out of the church. She knew she was going to have no part in this stupid wedding.

* * *

They'd told them _everything_ , every single detail about their lives leading up to their current predicament. Mike had been choking back tears, whilst Elektra sat in solemn silence, her brain whirring at four thousand miles an hour to try to comprehend what she was hearing. After that, Elektra had taken Aisha and Rafiq into the kitchen, so that everybody could have lunch together – the other Young People had been _very_ explicitly warned to clean up their act and not crowd Aisha and Rafiq like before.

That left Mike alone in the office, stuck with the painful dilemma dominating his thoughts. Their history was undoubtedly horrific, something no child should have to go through – surely they deserved nothing less than to be cared for at Waterland? It would mean a heck of a lot of paperwork, and he hadn't a clue where to _start_ with form-filling two children into existence, but Mike knew that Waterland House had a duty to care for these neglected siblings, to nourish and nurture them to the best of its ability. But then, on the other hand – it was social services' job to do this, not his, and in all likelihood social services would be much more in the know about how to handle the situation; they'd probably get the paperwork done and dusted in a week, and then Aisha and Rafiq might still be able to live at the Dumping Ground. However – there was _risk_ involved in that option. That tiny, niggling possibility of deportation. Not being 100% on the facts of the case, Mike had no idea whether deportation could be on the cards, but he couldn't risk it, could he?

As he mulled the options over, the door slammed open and a haggard-looking Fiona burst into the Dumping Ground. Aside from being Mike's partner, she also happened to be the regional manager for all the area's care homes. And she _definitely_ couldn't know about Aisha and Rafiq, not whilst Mike was still thinking things through.

Oh, shoot.

* * *

Luckily, Elektra heard the door being flung open, and her instincts kicked in.

"Get under the table!" she hissed to Aisha and Rafiq, pulling up the tablecloth to let them under. The siblings scurried underneath just in time.

"I could really, _really_ do with a bowl of Special Soup right now, Mike," announced Fiona, taking off her coat. "Oh, I see you've got a couple of chairs free. Always waiting in case I turn up for lunch?" She plonked herself down in a chair that, just moments before, Aisha had been sat on. Under the table, Rafiq put a finger on his lips to tell his sister not to make a sound.

Mike sat on Rafiq's chair and ladled some soup into a bowl. "Long morning?" he said as he passed the bowl to Fiona.

"Oh, like you wouldn't _believe_ ," replied Fiona. "You all all right, kids?" Some of the kids made a half-effort to nod. By now, they were used to Mike and Fiona ruining mealtimes by being all lovey-dovey.

"Well, get some Special Soup down you and forget all your troubles at Mike's Kitchen."

"Mmm, that's delicious," purred Fiona, sipping hot soup. Sat under the table, Aisha's eyes widened as she saw Mike's foot swing at Rafiq's head. She pushed her brother out of the way just in time, and shuffled over a little. In horror, the siblings watched as Mike's foot tentatively caressed Fiona's; their disgust intensified when they saw Fiona do the same thing. This was going to be a difficult lunchtime, and no mistake.

* * *

"Floss!" called Carmen into the pouring rain, standing on the doorstep of the church. " _Floss_!"

Sheepishly, a wet and bedraggled Floss came round the corner. "I'm _only_ coming in because I'm getting rained on, I _hope_ you understand that."

"Floss, please think about what you're doing," advised Carmen, proffering a hand. "You were right: your dad would be a fool to miss this wedding. But so would you!"

"He was late!"

"But he's here now! That's what matters. It's about making memories, Floss, especially when you spend so little time with your dad. Are you gonna remember today as the day you were soaking in the car park, or the day you saw your dad the happiest he's ever been? It's your choice, but I know what I'd do."

Floss considered for a few moments, then took Carmen's hand. Maybe she had a point.

* * *

In the shadowy attic, the council of kids was in session again. Perched on crates and beanbags in a clearing surrounded by cardboard boxes as far as the eye could see – which wasn't far, in the oppressive near-total darkness – they held torches so they could see each other, and were engrossed in their conversation.

"And did you _see_ the amount of mud they left in the shower?" Jody moaned.

"The girl sat on the TV remote," complained Jay.

"Oh god, I've had a thought. Bagsy not giving up my room for them," said Charlie. A chorus of similar 'bagsy's filled the room.

"I think I got cramp in my leg from them hiding under the table at lunch," added Jody. "Why should we have to suffer for _them_? We don't even know who they are!"

"I don't want them here," confessed Tyler. "I know we have to give everyone a chance, or whatever – but there's limits to what I can _cope_ with, you know?"

"It's like they don't know how to live with other people," evaluated Sasha.

"Yeah, completely," Charlie said.

"Well, if we're all agreed, then why not do something about it?" said Sasha mischievously, as she reached for her phone and dialled a number.

"What are you doing?" asked Jay, but Sasha merely shushed him and moved the phone to her ear.

"Hello, I hope you can listen to this message _first thing in the morning_ and sort something out. We'd just like to let you know that our care home, Waterland House, is currently _overrun_ by two children who don't even _exist_. Like, we found them, took them off the streets – they were like, _feral_ , or something – and now we're _stuck_ with them, because our careworkers are such big softies. So please, _please_ pretty please, can you sort it out, because they are _getting_ on my _nerves_ , and they shouldn't even _be_ here. Thanks very much."

Sasha pressed the button to end the voicemail, and smiled triumphantly at the others.

* * *

Monday morning dawned, and some of the Young People fought to contain their secret smiles – they knew what was going to happen. True, they'd managed to stay in their rooms for the night, since Aisha and Rafiq slept on mattresses in the quiet room, but Sasha certainly was going to be glad to see the back of them. I mean, what right did they have to come in and mess everything up at the Dumping Ground, when they didn't even _exist_ , by all accounts? As she and the others shuffled down the stairs that morning, they all had a little extra spring in their step.

And when they came into the kitchen, the most beautiful breakfast ever awaited them. Laid out on the table was every variety of breakfast food imaginable – plates of crumpets and pancakes; boxes of cereals arranged in regimented rows; eggs done scrambled, fried and boiled; a bowl of fruit salad swimming in fragrant strawberry yoghurt; jam and peanut butter and chocolate spread all fighting for space next to a plate piled high with freshly-baked croissants. The Young People were amazed by the beauty in front of them. They were about to race to get a seat at the table, but Mike stopped them.

"Ah, ah, ah," he warned. "There's one last thing to take care of, isn't there, you two?"

Aisha and Rafiq came round the corner and each put on the table a toast rack, full to the brim with every colour of toast, from bleached to blackened and back again.

"Before you get to try this lovely-looking meal, Aisha and Rafiq have got something to say to you all," beamed Mike, bundling the siblings forward to face the others.

"We just wanted to say how sorry we are for yesterday," explained Rafiq. "Everything was unfamiliar, and everyone was asking questions, and it was like everything we were doing was wrong, but we didn't mean to hurt anybody's feelings."

"I'm very sorry," said Aisha.

"So we made breakfast to cheer you all up."

The Young People burst into chimes of "thank you"s and "I forgive you"s, and eagerly sat down and began to greedily pile food onto their plates. It was going to be, without a doubt, the best breakfast ever.

Carmen strolled into the kitchen. "Morning, everyone!" she trilled, but everyone was too engrossed in their breakfast to reply. "Lovely to see you, too," she said to nobody in particular. "Post for Floss!"

"Ooh, what is it? Give it here!" said Floss, snatching a red envelope out of Carmen's hand. She noticed a first-class stamp affixed to the top corner of the envelope, as well as some cramped, thick, _familiar_ handwriting. She quickly opened it and scanned the contents.

"What have you got there, Floss?" asked Mike from the other end of the table, where he was spooning out baked beans onto the army of plates that were crowding him.

"It's from my dad," said Floss apprehensively. "He says he's sorry about being late yesterday… but he's got a surprise for me… and he wants to meet up while he's still in town… Milkshake and a muffin, like we used to do. Carmen, can you come with me?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," replied Carmen. "We'll go this afternoon, if you want."

Floss merrily turned back to her food and started cutting off a bite-sized piece of fried egg. As she raised the fork to her lips, she had a horrible thought. "Oh no!" she cried. "If I'm having a muffin later, how am I going to be able to eat all this breakfast _now_?"

The door slammed open, and the Young People heard footsteps in the hall, approaching the kitchen. As they neared, Mike called "Morning, Elek-"

Fiona marched into the kitchen, flanked by two men in crisp charcoal pinstripe suits who both clutched briefcases; neither looked like they'd got out of the right side of the bed.

"Michael Milligan?" one of the men asked.

"Uh, yes, that's me," replied Mike. "Is everything alright? What's going on here?"

"Mike, these are my colleagues from social services," Fiona explained. One of the men haphazardly flashed a glinting ID badge to prove her point.

"We understand," he explained, "from a call we received late last night, that there might be some completely unregistered Young People currently in residence here. Could we speak to you, Mr Miligan?" He did _not_ look impressed with the situation.

"You're not taking Aisha and Rafiq!" Jody burst out.

"Yeah, you can't!" cried Sasha, eliciting a look of amazement from the others, who'd seen her ringing social services less than twelve hours before. "We made a mistake, we shouldn't have rung you."

"So they _aren't_ unregistered?" enquired Fiona.

"Well, uh, depends on your _definition_ of unregistered," decided Bird.

"Technically, yeah, they don't exist. But you can't take them away!" cried Jody.

"We thought they were horrible, but they're not, they're _lovely_ people!" added Sasha. "They made some mistakes, and we got angry with them, but we _shouldn't_ have. They're as much Dumping Ground kids as the rest of us."

"And they're the best breakfast chefs _ever_!" cooed Joseph.

Aisha and Rafiq turned to each other and smiled. Fiona looked puzzled. "Well…" she began, clearly finding it difficult to formulate the right response. "We can't ignore the fact that by hiding the fact these children were in your care, you're technically flaunting quite a few rules. There's a reason these rules are in place, as you well know, _Mike_." Mike looked around with a 'what, me?' expression on his face. " _But_ I can see the bond you've clearly made. As with all extreme cases like this, we were hoping that they could stay here anyway, _provided_ the paperwork can be sorted out, but after this, I _promise_ you that we'll fight these kids' corner. Don't you worry."

The children laughed and cheered, bringing a smile to Fiona's face. Tyler went over to Aisha and Rafiq and scooped them up in a big bear hug.

"Mike, let's make a start on this paperwork – come on!" urged Fiona.

Mike looked pleadingly at her. "But my breakfast…"

" _Don't_ push your luck."

"Ha ha, bad luck Mike!" jeered Ryan, sitting in Mike's chair as soon as Mike had stood up, and helping him to Mike's only-just-buttered slice of toast.

They'd done it! The Young People of the Dumping Ground had saved their new friends, and they couldn't be happier about it.

* * *

"Thanks for coming to see me at such short notice, Flossie," smiled her dad, passing the strawberry milkshake over and chuckling as she noisily slurped it down. At the next table, Carmen sat watching – she'd always been intrigued by what went on during these parent-child meetings. Now she could find out – the perks of being a careworker, she supposed.

"It's ok. It's like Carmen said – you've got to choose what memories you make. And if you're only going to be here for a few weeks then I want to make all the happy memories I can."

"That's my girl," he laughed. Then he paused for a few seconds before venturing his next topic. "Floss, you understand _why_ I was late, don't you? It was just the traffic, nothing more. It was _atrocious_ , like I'd never seen before. Completely out of my control. And do you know how bad it was?"

"No," she shook her head.

"So bad that I got out, begged for a bike off the roof rack of the car behind me in the traffic jam, and then I pedalled as fast as I could, in the rain, all the way to the church!"

"Really?!" laughed Floss, tickled by the funny image of her serious businessman dad cycling like a lunatic to get there on time.

"Really," he smiled. "Am I forgiven, then?"

Floss put her finger to her lips and arched her head in thought. "Hmm… not just yet." Her dad's face fell. She continued, "one more milkshake, however… then I might be in a bit more of a… forgiving mood."

She smiled innocently. Her dad laughed back, and Floss found herself laughing too.

* * *

"Well done, guys. Cheers!" said Mike, clinking glasses of fizzy orange with Carmen, Elektra and Fiona in the office.

"Well, it was by no means _easy_ , but we got there in the end," reported Fiona, gesturing to a brand-new set of files on Mike's desk. "They're all yours now. Do you know, it was the kids that really swung it for me. Soon as I saw how desperate they were not to lose those kids, I knew I had to fight for them."

"You did a great job. Thank you so much, Fiona," Mike smiled, leaning over to kiss Fiona on the cheek. Carmen and Elektra pretended to vomit. "Ah, stop it, you two. Don't think the sentimentality stops with Fiona. Elektra, without your quick thinking, we'd never have gotten into this crazy situation, but I think that's a good thing. And Carmen, congratulations on how you dealt with Floss – it's really made a big positive impact. I'm so proud of you both."

Carmen and Elektra smiled. They could hear the Young People enthusiastically playing games in the living room; they were introducing Aisha and Rafiq to the art of snooker. On nights like this, where the whole house just seemed to get along, where everybody had nothing but kind words to say to each other, this truly was the best job in the world.

* * *

 **Welcome to the Dumping Ground, Aisha and Rafiq! This chapter is an odd little hybrid - I had the idea for it, and wrote the cold open, back in March 2016, but storylined and wrote the rest in November 2018 (10 March 2016-20 November 2018). To be honest, I'm really quite proud of how it's turned out, so I hope you enjoyed it - if you did, feel free to leave a review! I'd really appreciate your thoughts.**

 **Most chapters of this story involved some form of research before I started writing, so I thought I'd keep you up to date on that - so, for this episode, I researched whether government databases like the one in the optician's actually exist. The answer is... not _anymore_. There _was_ one called Centrepoint around 2010, but it's no longer around - again, I'm using a little bit of my creative licence on this one. Hope you don't mind!**

 **Next week, you'll get to know a bit more about the new arrivals - here's a sneak preview:  
** Ryan is the ecstatic recipient of a brand-new motorbike for his 17th birthday. He can't wait to take it out on the road (with Elektra's help, of course) - there's just one problem: why do parts keep going missing? As he tries to expose the culprit, Ryan is faced with some harsh home truths. Meanwhile, Sasha sees Mike's plans to get a new office chair as licence to wreak mischief on the house, and Rafiq's concern that his sister has no interests leads to him and Carmen teaming up to find Aisha's hobby.  
 **Episode 5, "Out with the Old", is coming next Friday (15 February).**


	5. Out with the Old

"Okay, come on, come on, just a few more steps forward!" cried Carmen enthusiastically, leading Ryan by the hand through the garden. Ryan's eyes were tightly shut, and he was wearing a lurid 'Birthday Boy' badge that _screamed_ to the world – in red and orange and green – the news that he was 17 today.

"Oh god, where are you taking me?" Ryan laughed.

"You'll see, I promise," Carmen reassured him. "Okay, one more step. That's it – okay, now open your eyes on 3…" What on earth was he about to open his eyes to? "2…" He hoped it was something good. "1…" Here goes nothing. "Open!"

Ryan opened his eyes and suddenly realised he'd never felt happier.

It was like something out of the best dream ever. The sun was out, he was surrounded by people who, if not exactly 'friends', were decent people at least, and right in front of him was the motorbike he'd been asking for since probably his _last_ birthday.

"Ta-da!" exclaimed Chloe happily. "What do you think?"

Ryan was almost speechless – and that _never_ happened. It was perfect; it was everything he'd wanted and so much more.

"It's… it's amazing."

"Glad to hear it," smiled Elektra. "125cc, _technically_ second hand (but you'd never know it), it's like _the_ perfect starter bike."

"And you'll be pleased to hear Elektra says it's in _full_ working order," added Mike.

"Now, _technically_ ," clarified Elektra, "you've got to wait until you've done your CBT before you can ride it, but I thought maybe we could get you started on the car park by the cricket club. I'll help you with the basics."

"That'd be _amazing_ ," smiled Ryan. "Thank you so much. I can't wait!"

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 5: "Out with the Old"**

* * *

Sasha was _desperate_. So desperate, in fact, that she'd resorted to out-and-out begging.

" _Pleeeeaaasssee_!" she howled. " _Please_ , Elektra. I _know_ that you would have been in my position a few years ago. Please?"

"Why are you asking _me_? I'm not even in charge of finances!" Elektra argued. "And all I've had, all morning, is you _screaming_ at me for money. And to be _honest_ , Sasha, I'm getting a bit fed up, so run along now, bye-bye Sasha."

Elektra waved a patronising goodbye to Sasha, who groaned in frustration and left. On the way out she passed Mike; he flew into the room, clearly in a hurry, and flopped into his black leather spinny chair.

"Is everything o-" is all Elektra had time to ask, before Mike's chair let out a tremendous creaking noise and dropped about six inches.

Mike winced. "Ooh, I've pulled something. Aah! This _stupid_ , _stupid_ chair. Ow, that's really hurt my arm. Do you know what, this chair is almost as old as you, Elektra, but it's time for a change, isn't it?"

"Yeah, whatever."

" _Whatever_? This is serious stuff, Elektra, I could've been seriously injured! Absolute _death-trap_ of a chair! That's it, I'm buying a new one, this heap of rubbish needs to go to the tip before it wreaks any more havoc."

Elektra tutted, glanced at the clock, noticed it was lunchtime, and moved out of the office. As she crossed the threshold, Sasha appeared, crying "It's only twenty-five pounds! Please, Elektra, someone's already _bought_ them for me!"

"Let that be a lesson that you shouldn't get people to buy your _tickets_ if you can't pay them _back_!"

"Ugh, you're so _annoying_!" ranted Sasha, disappearing upstairs.

Elektra reached the kitchen, perching herself on a stool at the breakfast bar. Carmen was sat with the kids, and everyone was talking about how happy they were for Ryan. Birthday Boy himself was sat at the head of the table, beaming, wallowing in the happiness of the day.

"Ah, Elektra, just the woman I wanted to see," smiled Ryan. "When are we going for a ride, then? After lunch? Right now? 'Cos I mean, I could do right now if you want."

"Wow, someone's keen," Elektra remarked.

"Ryan, you've only just got it!" laughed Chloe.

"Yeah, but it's his _birthday_ ," argued Carmen. "So he can do whatever he wants."

"Well, whatever he wants… apart from riding his motorbike," confessed Elektra awkwardly. "Sorry, Ryan, but no can do until tomorrow, I've got this… _fascinating_ online course to do about the joys of effective paperwork management." She pretended to snore; the kids laughed.

"Oh, right," replied Ryan, looking a little sad.

"Hey, don't get worked up," advised Elektra. "It just means you'll be even more excited for it for tomorrow." Ryan smiled.

"Is it dangerous?" asked Bird.

"Riding motorbikes? Only if you choose to be dangerous," said Ryan.

"And _are_ you going to choose to be dangerous?" Chloe asked, concerned.

"Well, maybe. We'll see."

* * *

Shades of deep dark navy and swirling aquamarine and vibrant turquoise danced together on the walls of Aisha and Rafiq's room, forming a sea of vivid, glittering hues that transfixed the siblings sat on the bed.

"So – any thoughts on which colour you like best?" asked Carmen.

"Turquoise is nice?" shrugged Aisha.

"Yeah, well if it's what you both want, then we can get to w-"

"-I like the navy," interjected Rafiq.

Carmen sucked her teeth and turned to the children. "Actually, let's sort it out later," she decided, trying a different tack. "So, you two… what do you want to do now? I've got a bit of free time this afternoon, so I can stay and play with you for a bit, if you want."

"I'm too old for playing," said Rafiq.

"Oh, _nobody's_ too old for playing at the Dumping Gr-in Waterland House. There's _always_ people playing games, or making their own fun, or getting up to something creative. And _you_ might think you're too old for playing, Rafiq, but Aisha's only seven, _surely_ she wants to play!"

"I don't know _what_ to play," Aisha confessed.

"Okay, that's no problem – what kind of things do you like to do? You know, like hobbies."

"Um…" Aisha thought long and hard.

"Interests? Pastimes? Things you do in your spare time?"

"Uh…" Aisha was beginning to look panicked. She tugged on the sleeves of her blue jumper, and looked first at the ceiling, then at her brother for support. Rafiq took the hint.

"Uh, I like basketball!" he smiled.

"Oh, that's cool!" trilled Carmen. "I'm not sure if we've got anyone else here who likes it. You might have to just dribble the ball around for a while until we've trained up a few of the others in how to play." Rafiq smiled. He and his brother were both having a lovely time at Waterland House so far.

"Okay, Aisha," Carmen continued. "What about you? Are you not too sure?" It was like a weight had been lifted off Aisha's shoulders. She shook her head vigorously – to be honest, she had absolutely no idea. Surely she must be interested in _something_? "That's okay, don't worry about it."

"But isn't it a _problem_ , if I don't have anything I like to do?" asked Aisha.

"Not a problem – a _challenge_ ," smiled Carmen. "Tomorrow morning, let's take up that challenge. You in?" Aisha and Rafiq nodded. "Okay then. Tomorrow morning is the morning when we… Find Aisha's Hobby."

The siblings smiled.

* * *

 _Stupid_ careworkers. _Stupid_ Elektra. _Stupid_ being in care.

She only needed twenty pounds! Twenty puny little pounds, for a puny little concert ticket for a puny little concert that was going to make her feel happy, just for one evening. What was she even going to do if she couldn't pay Robbo back? She couldn't just _not go_. Oh, and the _shame_ of admitting you were too skint to cough up.

Sasha sat on her bed that evening, stewing in these toxic, preying thoughts for as long as she could tolerate. And then suddenly… the germ of an idea hatched in her mind. Something Mike had said that morning.

 _"Absolute death-trap of a chair! That's it, I'm buying a new one, this heap of rubbish needs to go to the tip before it wreaks any more havoc."_

So there was the little shining gleam of furniture-shaped hope. There was a chair that needed a new owner. Why couldn't Sasha be the one to find that owner?

A few problems: _was_ it legal to sell a 'death-trap' of a chair? Hmm. Maybe not, but desperate times call for desperate measures, Sasha reckoned. Another problem: it would be a hell of an effort to sell a mouldy old office chair entering its third decade of existence. But she needed those tickets, so she needed to pull out all the stops.

Sasha opened up a photo editing programme on her laptop, and got to work.

* * *

At the same time that Sasha was preparing to wreak mischief on all of the more gullible residents of Waterland House, Ryan was slipping a leather biker jacket (a present from Chloe) over his pyjamas.

He'd been _ecstatic_ to receive this bike. It was everything he'd dreamed of. How could he _possibly_ be expected to let it just sit here in the garage without him? It was his birthday – didn't Carmen tell him that that meant he could do whatever he wanted?

And that was why, he thought as he put his brand-new helmet on, he thoroughly deserved this moment. His hands met the cold handlebars and he felt a comforting anticipatory warmth shoot up from hands, through to his brain, then all around his body, charging him up with excitement.

Ryan inserted the key, tapped the motorbike into neutral with his foot and pulled the clutch in with his left hand. He could feel himself shaking slightly with an electrifying mixture of nervousness and excitement. His fingers hovered over the start button for a second. Here we go.

He flicked the start button. The bike BUZZED for the briefest of seconds – then nothing. He tried again. It did the same thing – a quick splutter. Then silence.

Of course. Of course this would happen to him. 'In full working order', Elektra had said. Typical.

Dejected, Ryan dismounted, took the helmet off and sadly traipsed to the door of the garage. Taking one look back at the broken bike, he moved to open the door-

-The door handle jerked downwards and Ryan athletically backed out of the way, as the door swung open to reveal…

"Elektra! What are _you_ doing, it's half ten, you should've gone home ages ago!" he hissed angrily.

"What are _you_ doing? I told you we could go _tomorrow_! Not now, Ryan."

"Don't waste your time arguing. It's broken anyway."

"What? No, it isn't. I checked it all this morning, it's working pretty amazingly given it's second-hand."

"Yeah, well how come I just tried to start it, and it won't go."

"Are you sure you were doing it right?" asked Elektra, crossing over to the bike.

"Every single step," confirmed Ryan.

"Okay, _well_ … if the bike isn't for going, your first port of call is _always_ …" Elektra said, ducking down. "The spark plug wires. See?" She indicated a loose wire on the right hand side of Ryan's motorbike, slap-bang in the middle. "Now that _could_ have come loose by itself, but it's the most common target for pranksters, because the wires are exposed, so they're vulnerable."

"Being exposed makes you vulnerable," ruminated Ryan. "That's my philosophy."

"Oh, shut up, you! Luckily, all you've got to do is unplug and re-plug the connectors, like _so_ …" said Elektra as she worked, "and now you're good to go. _But_ -" she snatched the keys from the ignition. "-not tonight. You can have these back in the morning, when I get in. No riding the bike until I'm here, them's the rules."

Ryan nodded understandingly, thanked Elektra and went to get a good night's sleep.

* * *

"We can't," urged Aisha very early the next morning, pushing her silky black bob behind her ear and out of the way. "Not snooker. Not after last time."

"Hmm…" Carmen mused. "I'm inclined to agree with you on that one." They sat on little plastic chairs in Waterland's capacious garden shed, forming a council that had just one aim – to find Aisha's hobby. "Right! I know something that _everybody_ likes – do you wanna give it a go?"

Aisha smiled and nodded her head, as Carmen took her by one hand, Rafiq the other, and marched them up to the vibrantly coloured small tennis court that sat like a rotund old man in his solitary armchair, dominating the left hand side of the garden space.

"Close your eyes. It won't take a minute," said Carmen, vanishing from view as Aisha and Rafiq did as she asked. "No peeking!" she called. The siblings heard all manner of bangs and crashes and squawks, and it seemed as though their eyes had been closed all morning, but then the mellifluous voice drifted through the air to them: "Okay, open up!"

Aisha and Rafiq were confronted with a fully laid out table tennis table, with a flimsy net separating the two halves, and a ball and two bats lying on top.

"What is it?" asked Rafiq inquisitively.

"You don't know what table tennis is?" Carmen boggled. "Oh, it's _great_. You'll get used to it in no time – so basically, just hit the ball with the bat when it comes to you, and make sure it bounces once on each side of the table before someone hits it."

"That sounds… okay…" decided Rafiq. "Can me and Aisha play against you?"

Carmen nodded, and the players took up their spots around the table.

And they had so much fun! Aisha and Rafiq quickly got the hang of this new game, hitting the ball with just the right amount of force to send it twirling through the air, making it dance a livid tarantella that electrified all of their reaction times. Higher and higher it went! Faster and faster came the relentless serves! Aisha reached up as high as she could to hit an explosive ball-

-she toppled.

She fell over backwards, and smacked her head on the hard acrylic surface. She screamed.

* * *

9:30am. The alarm beeped, beeped, beeped, incessant, like an angry wasp. Ryan groggily slammed a finger onto his phone screen, swiping away the invasion of his sleep. Ordinarily, he would have snoozed in bed for at least another half an hour before waking up properly – there was a _reason_ why he timed his waking-up to coincide with everyone else finishing their breakfast. But today, something was different. The bike.

Pulling a dressing gown on, Ryan lumbered over to the door, wrenching it open with sluggish anticipation. He couldn't fail to notice the sporadic yellow dots which stained the carpet.

With a metaphorical magnifying glass to his eye, Ryan traced the eerie golden river from its origin, right outside his door, all the way along the corridor. As he tiptoed down the stairs and prowled along yellow-spotted corridors, confusion mounted in his mind. He knew exactly what these corridors smelt of, and it wasn't good news.

His heart sank as he noted the dots leading up to the garage door, overwhelmed with the horrible anticipation of knowing your worst fears are about to be realised.

He kicked open the door and drank in the sight. His bike was propped up just as he'd left it. But next to it sat a gloating, gleeful bucket full of amber petrol. No prizes for guessing where it had all come from.

* * *

"Psst!" Sasha hissed across the living room, aiming her verbal dart at Charlie, who sat engrossed in a nature book in a red armchair opposite her. "Charlie!"  
"What is it, Sasha?" asked Charlie, evidently uninterested in the younger girl.

"How are you doing for cash?" asked Sasha, rubbing the fingers of her left hand together to simulate counting money.

" _Erm,_ Sasha, you're not borrowing any more money off me!"

"No, no," smiled Sasha, putting on a hushed, secretive, 'salesperson' voice. "It's nothing like that. How would you like… to have a bit _more_ money, if you know what I'm saying?"

"Why, what are you plotting?"

Charlie was clearly sceptical. Sasha ramped up the 'salesperson' element.

"Oh, it's… nothing major. I've just got a tidy little proposition for you. You see, our Mike's been having a little clear-out and one of the items he's chucking is a _tasteful_ , _delightful_ , _elegant_ office swivel chair."

"I don't want a chair," said Charlie dismissively.

"No, no, no, it's more than that. You see Charlie, Mike's given that chair to me, but I happen to know it's worth quite a bit more than you'd expect. And right now, I'm looking for a buyer. Interested?"

"Prove it."

"Glad you asked," beamed Sasha, scrolling through her phone until she found the image she'd concocted the night before: a picture of the office chair displayed on some office furniture website, presented proudly above a monumental price tag.

" _Four thousand pounds_?" spluttered Charlie.

"Shhh, keep your voice down! Yes, four thousand pounds. I'm happy to sell it on… for a reasonable price. Then you can do whatever you want with it, sell it on again, make a bit of profit, it's up to you."

"What do _you_ gain from this?"

"All I need is some money for concert tickets. Anything else doesn't matter. Set your own price, if you're that bothered. Listen, tell me if you're interested, because it's an exclusive offer just for you – don't tell the others, you know?"

"Just for me?"

"Yeah, you get first dibs. _If_ you want it, that is. I'm gonna need a speedy decision though, Charlie, or you'll miss out on this _exclusive_ deal."

The other girl deliberated this for a few seconds, and then turned to Sasha, a smile on her face. "It's a deal."

"Sold!" smiled Sasha, shaking Charlie's hand. Result.

* * *

Carmen propped a cushion up behind Aisha's back and let the girl fall back onto it.

"Okay, are you feeling better now?" she asked; Aisha nodded in reply. "Good – you're lucky you're not too badly hurt. That was a nasty fall! Is there anything I can get you to help with it?"

"She's fine," insisted Rafiq, sitting next to his sister in the blue-hued quiet room.

"No, go on, Aisha, is there anything you need?"

"Well…" said Aisha, noticing something out of the corner of her eye that took a fancy. "Up on that shelf…" She gestured to a slim black shape poking out from a basket.

"…the recorder?" asked Carmen. She reached up on tiptoes and snatched the instrument.

"It might be my _thing_ ," reasoned Aisha.

"Yeah, well, all I'm saying is there's a _reason_ this thing's shut away in the quiet room where no-one can get to it." Carmen reluctantly handed over the recorder and Aisha put it to her lips, braced herself, primed her fingers.

She blew into it.

"AAAH!" cried Rafiq, his hands moving to his ears like lightning.

"AAAH!" screamed Carmen, shoving her fingers into her ears in a desperate attempt to _make it stop_.

It stopped.

"Okay… maybe recorder isn't my thing, either," conceded Aisha. Her brother and Rafiq breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

Ryan stormed into the kitchen, a teenage tempest whirling around the dozen or so kids who were sat munching sandwiches at the table. He slammed a fist down on the table to get their attention; startled, some of the kids jumped in their seats.

"Who did it then?" he demanded.

Eleven kids looked blankly back at him. "Who did _what_?" asked Chloe.

"Oh, 'who did what'?" mocked Ryan. "The _petrol_ … my _bike_ …" Still nothing. "What, so you're really telling me _nobody_ saw a great big trail of petrol all along the upstairs corridor?"

"I didn't," chimed several voices in reply.

Ryan sighed. "Great. Just great. Someone took all the petrol out of _my bike_ , and not one of yous knows who it was!"

"Someone's a bit crabby today," Sasha remarked.

"Crabby? Crabby? I'm bloody LIVID! I hope you know, whoever you are, that I'm getting on that bike and I am riding it wherever I want, _how_ ever I want, _when_ ever I want. And nobody is gonna stop me!"

And with that he thundered out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Let's face it," said Aisha glumly. "I'm not good at _anything_."

"No, that's not true!" argued Rafiq, although his own private thoughts were heading to a similar conclusion. That afternoon they'd tried loads of different activities – skipping ropes, video games, dance-mats – and they'd all just seemed a little bit too… _challenging_ for his sister, who neither had the patience for drawing nor the coordination for table football.

"Yeah," agreed Carmen, noting nervously that it was approaching the end of the day and they still hadn't found a hobby for Aisha. "Just because you're not the most musical person, or because the relay race wasn't your thing-" (She'd tripped as she was passing the baton to Floss and sent four children toppling like dominoes to the ground) "-doesn't mean there's nothing out there for you. Listen, I've got one last trick up my sleeve – it might be a bit tricky, but I think you'll like it. Come on!"

The siblings followed Carmen to the shed, where she began to excitedly fling gigantic black and white foam figures off the shelves and onto the lawn. Finally, Carmen re-emerged, carrying a black and white chequered mat that she spread out over the grass.

"What's _this_?" queried Rafiq, bemused by the odd game Carmen was setting up on the mat.

"Giant chess!" Carmen smiled enthusiastically.

"Can me and Aisha be together?"

"Yes, of course, Rafiq. So, do you know how to play?" The brother and sister shook their heads. "Okay, here goes… are you listening up? So, I'm in charge of all of these pieces on this side of the board and you're in charge of all of those ones. Okay?"

The siblings nodded; this seemed simple enough so far.

"All the pieces do different things. Pawns move one square forward, _or_ two squares forward if it's its first move, then rooks, that's the one that looks like a castle, they move in straight lines, forward, backward, left or right, the king moves one square in any direction you want, the _queen_ any number of squares in any direction you want, oh and then the bishops of course, the bishops can go diagonally, any number of square, then what have I left out?" Aisha's brain couldn't handle this – it was just too confusing. "Oh yeah, the knight, the knight goes, uh, like an L shape, two squares in one direction then one square in another direction, but not diagonally. We take it in turns to move a piece and you get rid of my pieces by moving over them, and all you've got to do to win it is get to my king and defeat him – that's called checkmate. Got it?"

Aisha most definitely _didn't_ get it. "NO!" she roared. "I DON'T get it! I don't get it, I don't LIKE it, and I don't like YOU! I'm rubbish at everything and I _know_ I am, so just… leave me alone! AGH!" She kicked over a giant rook and stormed away.

* * *

Sasha's day was going _brilliantly_. So far, she'd sold the chair to Charlie, Jody, Floss and Bird, all of whom were ecstatic at the possibility of selling the fabled furniture on for a sky-high price. No questions asked, either – they'd just handed over weeks' worth of their allowance, and Sasha was laughing all the way to the bank.

She eyed up Tyler from across the kitchen, as he sat lazily pawing at a cold toastie. Just one more target. It couldn't do any harm, could it?

She sidled up to Tyler.

"Oh, hi Tyler," she began, switching to saleswoman mode. "Enjoying your toastie?" She didn't wait for an answer. "How would you like to be the lucky owner of a _very_ valuable piece of kit?"

"What is it? I don't have a lot of money."

"Well, Tyler, the good news is you don't _need_ a lot of money! You see, I'm currently in the market with an _exclusive_ offer for a _deluxe_ , _luxury_ , _magnificent_ black swivel chair, and I think you'd be just the right person to take it into your own hands."

"What would I want a _chair_ for? Sasha, this has got be one of your worst schemes yet!"

"Oh Tyler, so naïve… 'what would I want a chair for?' It's been valued at _four thousand pounds_ , my friend. Four… thousand… smackeroonies. I'm happy to sell it for… forty? How does that sound?"

"Why's it going so cheap?" Tyler queried incredulously.

"Well, Mike gave it to me, and he didn't realise how much it's actually worth, but all I need is some money for gig tickets, so I'm happy for you to have it and then do whatever you like with it."

"Yeah, sweet!" smiled Tyler.

"Do we have a deal?"

Tyler nodded.

"Sold!" She waltzed out of the kitchen, passing Jody who came in as she was leaving.

"Jody, you'll never guess who's just had an unexpected windfall," Tyler smiled.

"I _beg_ your pardon?" she laughed.

"A windfall! It's when you get loads of money that you weren't expecting to get."

"Oh. I'm guessing it's you, then. Where've you got it from?"  
"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" teased Tyler. "Let's just say a little business proposition's come my way."

" _What_ business proposition? What have you been up to?"

"All I'm saying is it's the _chair-_ ry on top of the cake."

"The _what_?" It dawned on her. "The chair-ry… Tyler, have you been speaking to Sasha lately, by any chance?"

"Maybe…"

"About that office chair? The one she's selling?"

"She said that was an exclusive offer!"

"Yeah, well she said that to _me_ too. Tyler, I think we've been conned."

An amazed Tyler thought for a moment. "But I've already given her the money for it!"

"Me too… let's make sure we get it _back_ , then."

* * *

"Wait, look – she's picking it up!" cried Rafiq. He and Carmen were peering from behind a bush at the tennis court, the safe haven that Aisha had retreated to after storming away from the chess game. Aisha had sat there, knees tucked up into her chest, glaring at the ground like thunder, for a minute or so, but then she'd stood up and picked up a violently orange basketball that the wind had rolled to her feet.

"Let's go over and see if she wants to play," suggested Carmen, and they emerged onto the court. Aisha didn't even register their arrival, being too engrossed in bouncing the basketball around the court.

"Aisha!" called Rafiq.

She looked up. "Go away!"

"Do you want to try a game of basketball?" he continued, undeterred.

She nodded, and the siblings stood opposite each other, with Carmen in the middle holding the ball.

"Ready?" Carmen asked. "3… 2… 1…"

She threw the ball up in the air. Rafiq caught it during its descent, bounced it a few times, feeling his arms warm up and his palms grow accustomed to the coarse surface. As he advanced forwards, Aisha stuck a hand out and confidently stole the ball from him! Rafiq stood in bewilderment as his sister darted forward, snaking past him in a zig-zag whilst keeping the ball's perpetual momentum from hand to court and back again. The brother intercepted, taking back the basketball and weaving around Aisha, but she grabbed it back and zoomed past him, moving to the hoop. She took a breath, checked behind her, and hurled the ball straight through the hoop! It landed triumphantly on the ground, bouncing a few times until the height decayed and it came to a stop.

Rafiq stood there with his mouth open in amazement. "Aisha, you're amazing!"

"Thanks," she said.

"You're definitely better than anyone _I've_ ever seen trying basketball on that court," smiled Carmen. "I think, Aisha, we've found your hobby."

Aisha smiled back. "Thank you! I'm sorry I shouted at you – I didn't mean it."

"I know, you just got a bit frustrated. I understand. I think we've all felt like that. But hey, guess what the best bit is?"

"What?" asked Aisha.

"Rafiq's got someone to play basketball with him!"

They all smiled.

* * *

"Okay, second attempt. Second the best and all that, right?" said Ryan to Elektra. They were both in full bike leathers, sitting on their motorbikes – Elektra had found time that afternoon to refill Ryan's bike with petrol and now, as the summer air began to grow just a little cooler, they were preparing to ride out.

"Hopefully. You tell me – try to start it and let's see what happens."

"Have a good time!" called Chloe, who had decided to come and see Ryan off. "Come back in one piece."

"You know me – when have I _ever_ got myself in trouble?" Ryan grinned.

"That's what I'm worried about."

He pulled on his jet-black helmet, took a deep breath and, shaking with anticipation, purposefully pressed the start button.

Just as it had done the day before, the bike hummed into life – then coughed itself out. Furious, he pressed the button again, holding his finger on it for a few seconds. Again, the bike gave a throaty cough, but the engine wouldn't start. Ryan angrily pulled his helmet off his head and Elektra did the same.

"What? _How_ is it not working?" Elektra demanded, as she dismounted, flipped the kickstand down and propped the bike up. She crossed to Ryan's bike. "Get off it for a second, let's have a look."

"Well, I know what's wrong with it, there's a massive bloody warning light coming up!" Ryan rasped. It was true – the 'check engine' light was flashing like a disturbed hornets' nest.

"No need to get too worked up – it could be a two-minute fix if we're lucky." Elektra laid down next to the bike and began to examine it. Ryan joined her, noticing a couple of pink fibres strewn across the concrete of the garage floor. _Curious_.

Quickly Elektra found what she was lucking for. "And as I predicted… two-minute fix. Easy."

"Really?" breathed Ryan, happily.

"Yeah, it looks like a fouled spark plug."

"How do you mean, 'fouled'?"

"Someone's covered it in fuel. At least, that's what it looks like. _But_ don't worry, I can test it, won't take a minute. Watch this, Ryan, it could be useful." She set to work, narrating as she went. "So you take out the spark plug first – get it off the wire, like that, and then – can you pass me my toolkit, the blue one? Thanks. So you wrench the plug out like that… lay it just on top of the cylinder head, okay? Simple enough, right? … Then all you have to do is turn the engine over, with the ignition on. That's it!"

Elektra just had to complete the final step. Turning the engine over – that meant starting the bike, in essence. She reached her hand up and found the bike's start button.

A brief cloud of fire spurted out of the bike, nearly singeing Elektra. She screamed – fell backwards. Her head cracked as it hit the floor – her body jolted upwards – electrified. Chloe screamed and ran out of the room. Elektra came to a stop on the cold garage floor and lay whimpering for a moment.

"Are you okay?" cried Ryan, his eyes widening.

" _OW_!" she roared, climbing up to a sitting position. "Ow," she winced again, getting her breath back.

"Are you _OKAY_?" repeated Ryan.

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine," Elektra panted. "Just a shock, that's all. Literally _and_ metaphorically. Yeah, that sometimes happens – anything in that cylinder gets… ignited. I should've been wearing gloves and visors and all sorts of safety things. Sorry for frightening you."

"No, don't worry about me, it's _you_ that just got electrocuted or whatever!"

"To be honest, I wasn't expecting that from a 125cc. Someone's been messing about with this, Ryan."

"Yeah, and I think I know _who_ , and all," he mused.

* * *

What a wonderful day, thought Sasha as she sat on her bed and counted a wad of ten pound notes. Who knew care kids had this kind of money lying around? She'd drummed up an impressive five sales of the same chair, made some serious money, and best of all, she hadn't even lifted a finger to do it.

Unfortunately, though, her happy reflections were somewhat shattered by the knock at the door. A loud knock. A loud, angry knock. A loud, angry knock followed by an army of Young People bursting through the door like a battering ram.

"How could you do this?" demanded Bird.

"I want my money back!" shouted Tyler.

"You're nothing but a con artist!" yelled Jody.

And then the voices came crashing over each other, layer upon layer of angry complaints, louder and _louder_ and _LOUDER_. Everyone seemed to want their money back. They were _outraged_!

Mike heard the commotion and came jogging into Sasha's room.

"HEY, HEY, WHAT'S GOING ON?" he roared, silencing the din.

"Sasha conned us!" Jody said angrily.

"Yeah, she told us she was selling your chair," Charlie added.

"And she sold it to _all_ of us without telling anyone!" Tyler protested.

"She said it was worth four thousand pounds," commented Charlie.

"Four thous- WHAT?" spluttered Mike. " _No_! That's not… Sasha, is this true?"

Sasha began to protest. "It's not-it's-"

" _Is this true_?"

"… I only needed to get the money for the tickets! I wasn't trying to get _rich_ – I just needed twenty pounds. _Twenty. Pounds_ , Mike."

"For goodness' _sake_ , Sasha! You can't try to sell things that aren't yours to sell! You can't exploit people for your own profit! Above all, you can't mislead your friends."

"… Well, yeah, when you put it like that…"

"Sasha, you know what you've gotta do. Cancel _whatever_ filthy deals you've got going on. Do the right thing."

Sasha weighed it up in her mind. How could she give up so much money? She _needed_ to go to that concert – and think about what all the extra cash could buy! _But_ … perhaps she'd been a little hasty in going down the scamming route. Perhaps it could be considered a teensy tiny bit cruel to lie to them like that. Perhaps there were other ways she could get those twenty pounds.

Ugh. Decision time.

Perhaps all of Mike's talk about morals and ethics was starting to sink in.

She reluctantly nodded. Time to do the right thing.

* * *

Ryan stood at her door and let some of his anger soak out into the atmosphere. He had to try to do this as tactfully as he could. Yes, he was furious, but firing that fury at her wouldn't help anyone. He knew that.

Eventually, he felt some sense of calm seep into his body, replacing the venom he had expelled. He knocked on the door, but entered without waiting for the reply.

"I'm sorry!" sobbed Chloe, clutching a blanket for a massive tissue. "I didn't know that would happen to her! Is she ok?" She dissolved into uncharacteristic tears, her usual confident determination crumbling into insecurity as the magnitude of what she'd done hit her like a tidal wave.

"Chloe," her brother said, trying to get her to stop sobbing. "Chloe! She's fine! It was just a shock or something."

"Are you sure?"

"Not a scratch," Ryan confirmed. He moved over to the bed and sat on the end of it, fixing his steely eyes on Chloe's. "Why did you do it, Chloe?"

"I was worried about you," she sniffed. "You were so excited about the bike, and I was so happy _you_ were happy, but you were talking about driving dangerously and… Ryan, it frightened me. _You_ frightened me."

"Chloe, you know I didn't mean to do that. I was just messing around. I didn't mean any harm."

"Well, you _did_! I had all these… horrible _thoughts_ of what could happen to you, and I – I don't know, I just knew I had to do _something_."

"But Elektra was gonna be with me, nothing bad could have happened."

"I know, I just-"

"What kind of sister ruins things that make her brother happy? That's what I wanna know," retorted Ryan.

"Ryan, I did it for you!"

"That's not how it looks from here."

"Ryan, you make me scared! All the time. You're dangerous… _all the time_. You're in trouble _all the time_. I don't like it!" Chloe swallowed hard. " _Please_ , Ryan… please. If we haven't got each other, who _have_ we got? I… I panicked, I did things I shouldn't have done – because I was _scared_ , and worried, and desperate. I didn't mean to spoil your fun."

Ryan's face softened. "I know you didn't. But you can't escape the fact that you _did_. And I'm _sorry_ for how I am, but it's not exactly easy to change."

"It can be fixed, can't it? I'm _sure_ it can. I made sure everything I did could be fixed."

"Yes, it can be fixed. But it's not really the bike that needs fixing."

"What do you mean?" she sniffed.

"Chloe, you _can't_ do things like this every time I wanna do something a little bit risky. You can't… _be_ there for me every time I get into trouble. That's not how life works. Yeah, I get it, we're fairly close, and we're getting closer, but _this_ … this can't happen."

"I know. I need to learn when to let you live your life."

"And I need to respect how you feel."

"And we _both_ need to learn how to talk to each other about stuff," Chloe conceded. "My hands _stink_ of petrol, all because I couldn't tell you I was worried!"

"Oh, is that you?" laughed Ryan. "Only, I didn't wanna say…"

"Ah, stop it, you," giggled Chloe. She paused for a moment, weighed up whether to broach her next question. "… Are we okay?"

Ryan also had to think about his answer. "Yeah, I think we are. We've both got lessons to learn, though."

"What are people if not imperfect?" mused Chloe.

"Hey, I didn't know we had a _philosopher_ in the room!" smiled Ryan.

"I love you," Chloe blurted out. She didn't even really know where it had come from; she certainly hadn't _meant_ to say it, hadn't tossed the words over in her mind before they'd come out of her mouth. But, thinking about it, it was exactly what her heart had been telling her to say.

"You what?" asked Ryan incredulously.

"You heard me. I love you."

Ryan moved to the head of the bed and scooped Chloe up in a tight embrace. "I love you too," he confessed under his breath.

* * *

" _Unbelievable_. Just unbelievable. Twenty. Eight. Pounds. _Twenty-eight pounds_! That's all it's worth, after all these years I've had with it!" Mike was staring at the result of a very disappointing eBay auction on his computer screen.

"Yeah, they definitely broke the bank with that, whoever's been stupid enough to buy it," laughed Carmen.

"Less of the obvious derision here, Carmen, I'm a man on the edge! Twenty-eight pounds! _What_ is the world coming to, when that _beautiful_ chair only gets me twenty-eight pounds? That's not gonna buy anything at all, is it?"

" _Well_ ," pointed out Elektra as she breezed into the office, "it would cover Sasha's tickets, for one thing."

"No," said Mike. "No, no, no. Sasha's not getting rewarded for what she did."

"What she _did_ was show some entrepreneurial spirit – good morning, by the way – true, her methods were a little flawed-"

"Not _flawed_ , Elektra – deceptive! – yeah, good morning to you too – callous and deceptive!"

"Yeah, we're _very disappointed_ with how she behaved, remember?" Carmen added.

"I just think it's about time we helped her out with one little thing. Besides, you're not exactly gonna be able to get a new office chair with twenty-eight pounds, are you?" Mike harrumphed dejectedly. "Anyway, think on it. _I_ have something to do."

"Anything fun?" asked Carmen.

"Come and see."

* * *

"Ready?" asked Elektra, pulling a dark blue motorcycle helmet over her tied-back brown locks.

"Ready," smiled Ryan from his motorbike, right next to hers, gleaming in glossy black.

His finger hovered over the 'start' button. Please, he thought, please let this work. Anticipation coursing through his body like a drug, he prepared himself for what was about to happen. A deep breath in, then he slammed the button – and the motorbike roared into life.

Elektra's motorbike joined it in this symphony of revs. As the garage door swung open to flood the space with sunlight, Ryan looked back at his sister. She flashed a smile; Ryan thought he saw her give a slight nod, like she was voicing approval. Like she was letting him go.

Ryan smiled back at her, kicked off, and drove out into the sunlight.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! If you did, I'd love it if you left a review. Behind-the-scenes: this episode was written from 20 November-13 December, 2018, and my research included finding out how to start a motorbike and researching all the possible ways somebody could sabotage it!**

 **Here's a sneak preview for next** **week:  
** It's nearly exam results day, and to say that Charlie's feeling the stress would be the understatement of the century. Trapped between childhood and adulthood, the enormity of life suddenly comes flying at her - and the Dumping Ground is left to feel her wrath! As she escapes into a psychedelic fantasy world, will she learn how to resolve the tension between childhood and adulthood?  
 **Episode 6, "Face the Future", is coming next Friday (22 February).**


	6. Face the Future

"You're calm, so calm. It's all you can feel – tranquillity, coursing along your skin; serenity, powering through your bones; peace, filling your mind and your body. _Feel_ that energy – harness it. Do you feel it? That inner calm, like nothing you've ever felt before.

"And as you sense that beautiful calmness inside you, breathe in. Don't push yourself –just _breathe_. In for four… hold for four… and then out for four… That's it, just keep repeating the cycle again and again, over and over. Do you feel the calm?

"Let's go a step further. At the same time that the calm is filling you up, it's pushing out all the bad feelings, all the negativity. Feel it flooding out of you – anything that's bringing you down, or stressing you out, or disturbing the peace. Let it free. Let it-"

"-NO!" shouted Charlie, getting up out of the cross-legged position she'd been in. Several children's eyes snapped open to watch Charlie, their relaxing trance abruptly broken by her interruption.

"Sit back down!" protested Tyler, who was wearing a dressing gown and sat, barefoot and cross-legged, in front of the four or five kids he'd persuaded to join his meditation session. "You'll ruin the zen!"

"The 'zen' doesn't exist! The 'zen' isn't helping me at all! Tyler, I'm _not_ going to suddenly become all calm this week, and I _think_ you know that."  
"You're not even trying!"

"I _am_ trying – It's. Not. Working! Oh, for god's sake, why am I even bothering with this rubbish?"

Charlie reached down, picked up the cushion she'd been sitting on, and threw it at Tyler. She stormed out of the room.

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 6: "Face the Future"**

* * *

Mike could hear nothing but the gaggle hammering at the office door. Wearily, he lumbered to the door, braced himself, then gingerly turned the door handle.

Five or six kids burst in.

"Mike," said Sasha, clearly the elected leader of the group. "You _need_ to have a word with Charlie."

"Charlie?" queried Mike. "Why, what's she done? Not in any trouble I hope."

"You _could_ say that," Sasha continued.

"… Is this about her exam results coming up?"

"Yes! See, you're noticing it _too_! She's normally so nice, and then as soon as it's results season, she's… a _monster_."

"She's not a monster. She's _just_ a little bit anxious about these A Level results. I know you guys won't understand how stressful they are yet, but these grades really could determine quite a lot of her future."

"Well, she doesn't have to be so _rude_ about it!"

"Yeah!" chimed Tyler. "She threw a cushion at me, even after all the effort I went to sorting out a meditation class, all just to help _her_!"

"She used my tracing paper to blow her nose," protested Jody.

"I think she _hissed_ at me when I was trying to make her feel better," said Bird.

"She threw socks at me!" ranted Floss.

"She stole my cereal and then she decided she didn't want it, so she just poured it on my head!" cried Jay.

"Yes, yes, okay, _okay_." Mike threw his hands up to stop the chattering children. "I understand your concerns. I _know_ that some of the things Charlie has been doing are… perhaps antisocial, or unkind… But you've _got_ to understand that her head isn't necessarily thinking about being kind right now. She-"

"What, so she can get away with being mean to us?" Jody retorted.

"- _No_ , Jody, she can't. I'm just saying that you shouldn't think anything bad by it – it's nothing personal. Charlie's mind is _fixed_ on Thursday morning. If she gets those grades, she's on her dream course. If not… well, that can be a discussion for another time. Do you get what I'm saying guys? This is _important_ to her – _more_ important than anything she's ever done before. All I'm asking for is some empathy, just for these next few days."

"Yeah, alright," conceded Sasha. "But _please_ talk to her."

* * *

Oh, no, no, no, no. Not again. Another knock on the door. She just couldn't do this. She lay back on her bed and tried to pretend it had never happened. Didn't she have a _right_ to peace and quiet?

The knock came again. Charlie supposed it was a little gentler than some of the wild assaults her bedroom door had suffered over this past week. Reluctantly, she fought her way to the door and swung it open.

Mike's cheery face greeted her. "Hi Charlie. Can I come in?"

She sighed. "Yeah, but _only_ if you're not gonna pester me about exam results."

"Been a difficult week, eh, with everyone asking?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. I've told them, time and time again, that I won't know anything until Thursday, but they won't shut up about it!"

"You're not… _worried_ about your results, though, are you? You said the exams went really well."

"They _did_! At least, I think they did. Well… saying that, there was a _reeaallly_ nasty Biology paper, and that's gonna have done something _terrible_ to my average grade. Actually, you know what, Mike? I've failed. I've failed! That's it, simple as that," she breathed. "I am gonna come out of college with no A Levels, and I'm gonna live on the streets because no-one wants me. I'm just a failure. I'm-"

"-Hey hey hey, Charlie! _Charlie_!" snapped Mike, resting a hand on her shoulder. " _Everyone_ panics about their exam results. It's natural, _especially_ amongst high-achievers like yourself – you panic for months on end, and everything turns out alright in the end."

"But it's _scary_!" Charlie roared, the feeling of catharsis sharpening every word into a knife. "I'm _terrified_!" She felt her voice growing louder and louder. "And the others are _not_ helping! It's like I'm this big balloon, and every time one of them asks how I'm feeling the balloon gets inflated, and it's getting bigger and bigger, and I just _know_ that sooner or later I'm gonna pop. You just don't get it – the idea of going out into the world with nothing is _frightening_ , Mike!"

"Hey, kid," Mike said reassuringly, putting that hand back on her shoulder. "What's this about me not 'getting' it? It was the same way even back when _I_ was doing my exams nine hundred years ago. Ask Carmen and Elektra, they'll tell you the same story. And do you know what? I'll let you into a little secret: my exam results weren't exactly all that, and I'd say I've done pretty well for myself – because I _love_ my job. I love it to bits! And I know, first-hand, that these results won't define the rest of your life. The only thing that effects where you go in life is _yourself_ , Charlie."

"Thanks, Mike."

"What _I_ suspect is that there's something else making you stressed."

"What do you mean?"

"Charlie, you've got _nothing_ to fear from Results Day. I know that; I think you know that. No, Dr Mike's diagnosis is that you're more scared of the _future_ than a sheet of paper with some letters on it."

"Oh, is this another of your speeches about how the future is 'a big scary, uncertain place' and how 'you can never really prepare for it'?" Charlie scoffed.

"Yes, it is. Once you've got those results, that's your ticket to a new chapter of your life. And that's a frightening thing, but it's also a fresh start, and if you don't-"

"No!" protested Charlie. "You're wrong! If you think I'm nervous about leaving the Dumping Ground behind, you can think again. I can't _wait_ to be an adult. I can't wait for a taste of freedom."

"That's good, and I believe you. But I just want to make sure you know that moving on from Waterland House doesn't mean you can't reach out to us, if you ever need us. We're still your family, Charlie, wherever you end up. The number of kids that have gone through this place, pretending they hate it here but then being _terrified_ to leave – it's staggering. I wouldn't want you to be one of them."

Charlie sighed deeply; he'd pretty much summed up her weeks of mental anguish in a nutshell. "Thanks," she said. "I needed to hear that, I think."

"Now, come on. We're doing something fun in the garden, all of us, and the younger ones could do with some help."

Charlie followed him out.

* * *

"A _what_?" squawked Floss.

"An egg hunt!" enthused Carmen.

"But it's been months since Easter," Rafiq pointed out.

"You know, I've always said there's never a bad time to scavenge for chocolate," Carmen smiled in response.

"This is so childish," laughed Charlie with more than a hint of derision. "I'm seventeen years old! Why am I doing this?"

"Because we need an even number of scavengers – and I _promise_ you'll have fun," announced Mike. "Okay guys, the rules are simple – teams of two, each team collects a basket from me, and you can come back when you've found the ten eggs that are the same colour as the ribbon on your basket. They could be anywhere in the garden – anywhere at all. Got it?"

The Young People quickly organised themselves into pairs and collected baskets, and then they were off, looking high and low all around the garden. They scaled trees, darted into bushes and greedily shoved their treasure into the wicker baskets.

"Seventeen years old," moaned Charlie, as she and Joseph scurried about in the bushes around the swing seat. "And I'm looking for Easter eggs. Isn't that just a _little_ bit ridiculous?"

"I think it's fun!" Joseph smiled. "Well, at least _I'm_ having fun. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, I… I suppose it's just that I'm…" she stumbled over her thoughts, looked up from the pile of earth she had been examining. "Joseph, I'm going to university next month, and it just feels like… _how_ am I supposed to go from kiddie chocolate egg hunts one month to Freshers' Week and lectures the next?"

"Just enjoy what you've got, while you've still got it."

"Hmm… yeah, _maybe_."

Charlie turned away from Joseph and dived towards some bushes that looked like they'd been ruffled slightly – perfect for hiding eggs in. She pushed them aside – and there in front of her was a shimmering white void! It glimmered and undulated at the edges, like something organic, living.

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Gingerly, she stuck a hand into the void – it disappeared from view completely! Frowning, she pulled it back out. What the hell was happening here? She had to find out more. How could she leave an opportunity like this?

She gave a quick glance backwards at Joseph, making sure he was distracted, stuck her hands into the mysterious portal, and threw herself through it…

* * *

into a vast, completely white space. at least, she _guessed_ it was white, but there was absolutely nothing to tell her that apart from the complete sense of insignificance she suddenly felt. the unblemished whiteness stretched around her, embracing her and then carrying on infinitely in every direction. there was nothing she could confidently call a wall, or a ceiling, or a door – just her, all alone in this eternal emptiness.

what was she supposed to do? how on earth was she going to get back home? charlie spun around, searching for the portal she'd come through, but there was no sign of it in the white haze – and no indication of any other escape route.

she'd never felt this useless, this helpless – almost like a caged animal. she thought that maybe, somehow, there were punters watching in, like she was an exhibit, a helpless girl pacing around her enclosure with no idea of where she was or how to be free.

"hello?" she cried out, resorting to what she saw as the only option that brought even the smallest chance of success. "what do i do? how do i get out of here?"

suddenly a dull whirring sounded from somewhere behind charlie. she whirled around to face the source of the noise, and saw an average-sized, blank, featureless door swing out from nowhere, about ten metres in front of her. desperate for any means of getting back to her proper place and time, she ran to the impossible door and stepped through

* * *

into such an overpowering storm of stimuli that she felt herself going dizzy instantly!

the first things she noticed were the people – hazy shapes at first, dancing around her, next to her, all dressed in smart-casual party clothes. as her eyes adjusted to the new room, the shapes morphed into proper people – people she recognised: her friends! there was bird in a funny little purple bowtie, and sasha with beautiful dark makeup round her eyes and a twinkling nose piercing, dancing to the gloriously loud techno that blared from unseen speakers.

she understood a little more now about where she was; there was carpet underfoot, and sofas and a TV had been moved to the corners of the space – yes, it was a flat! she was at a flat party! jody and tyler were passionately kissing on the sofas, and over in the kitchen space that backed onto the living area, she could make out ryan chugging a beer and then adding the can to the growing pile by the sink.

a brilliant smell began to waft around the flat, and charlie followed her nose to the oven before peering aside. wicked – her favourite! and by the looks of it, it was ready!

"pizza's ready, guys!" announced charlie above the techno, grabbing the trays out of the oven and tipping the piping-hot cheese feasts onto waiting plates.

"good thing mike and carmen aren't here to tell us exactly how much we should be having," laughed ryan.

"yeah," chuckled sasha, coming over. "no more 'any more than that, and you'll be over your calorie limit'. _rubbish_!"

"i'm gonna have enough to fill me up to bursting, and then we can move on to the ice cream!" smiled tyler, his lips soaked in dark purple lipstick.

"yes!" grinned charlie, thrilled at this party, this pizza, this music, this _independence_. "this is going to be amazing! it's _so much_ better being an adult

* * *

she was back in the white void. alone again. lost and confused again. helpless again.

"hey, that wasn't fair!" she shouted. "you can't _do_ that – dangling a carrot in front of me like that. that was _perfect_ , that party – everything i want from the future. i'd have _stayed_ there, forever, if i could!"

another door opened in the blank featureless emptiness that charlie was stranded in. she considered it for a minute – it was in a different place to where the first door had opened up, but that didn't mean it didn't go to the same place; and how she wanted to go back to that place! or maybe it was the way out – also acceptable, at this stage, but maybe not quite as enticing as that house party…

oh well. she was clearly not the person in control here, so she might as well go along with it and see what lay on the other side of the door. charlie paced up to it and stepped over its threshold

* * *

into an awful scene that was usually confined within the pages of a charles dickens novel, not real life. a scene simply too _inhumane_ to be the product of reality.

tiny figures sat hunched over rows of benches. in front of each one was a gargantuan tangle of thick dirty rope. the figures wouldn't stop coughing, a diseased, splintered cough that made charlie wish there was something she could do to help. their clothes were tattered and torn, looking like little more than potato sacks with holes cut out for malnourished limbs to dejectedly flop through.

a door creaked open and onto this scene marched carmen and elektra, both wearing crisp three-piece pinstripe suits and immaculately-polished leather loafers. they turned to face the figures – figures that charlie now realised were her friends! she tried to individually make out their faces as her perception readjusted to the new environment; aisha, floss, jay, rafiq, joseph and chloe were the poor urchins. charlie ducked down behind a spare bench.

"riiiiiight!" howled elektra. "you know your tasks."

"you will work until one," carmen announced, and charlie's eyes drifted to the clock which was just about to tick onto eight. "and then we will break for the customary bread and cheese."

" _any_ and all talking will be punished with the utmost severity that this institution is permitted to exert. this will be your _only_ warning."

"now work!"

quickly, fearfully, the children began picking at the thick knots in the rope pythons – charlie stole a glance at her poor friends, and noticed their sallow, blotchy skin, horrific purple welts on their hands, and screaming red skin at the fingertips that frayed like the rope they fruitlessly unpicked fibre by fibre.

she couldn't see any more of this. she couldn't put up with such injustice! these poor young children, being ordered to do these horrible things they didn't want to do – things _nobody_ wanted to do. and by who? the rich, pompous adults who thought they knew best? this was awful.

inspired by the fury her thoughts summoned up, charlie roared "let me out of here!"

* * *

and found herself back in what she now saw as the white entrance hall onto these improbable situations that she'd experienced.

a voice sounded from behind where charlie stood: "right then, miss. this time you're gonna need some guidance."

charlie wheeled around to come face to face with…

"mike!" she exclaimed. he was dressed in white, from head to toe, looking more like a disco tribute act than an ethereal being. "oh, i'm so happy to see you! wait…" she thought for a minute.

"no, i'm not real," mike answered, psychically hearing her wordless question. "or, at least, i'm as real – or _not_ real – as the rest of this realm. now, young lady, take my hand." he proffered a hand, which charlie accepted, and led her up a flight of imaginary stairs in the middle of the nothingness. charlie couldn't believe it – she definitely couldn't see any difference in the cloud of white from one place to the next, but she could feel the stairs underfoot as she ascended them.

a door swung out from nowhere on this upper level that mike had led her to. "i'm thinking," he explained, "that you need something to expand your mind. a bit of… balance. try this."

he pushed a hand into her back and sent her tumbling through the door

* * *

into a faceful of leaves! instinctively, charlie recoiled and pulled herself back out of the pot plant she'd landed in, spitting out a mouthful of soil as she did so. bleurgh. she peered out from behind the plant and surveyed the room that mike had pushed her into:

it was almost as white and featureless as the void she'd been trapped in since she climbed through the wormhole in the garden, except, rather than pure white, it was more of a sort of… magnolia? whatever it was, it was disgusting and bland, every wall the same colour and with a ceiling to match. the magnolia carpet was splattered with stains. curiously, a picture of waterland house hung on the wall, but apart from that the minuscule room's only furniture was a white desk in one corner.

charlie craned her neck around to see more, and nearly did a double take when she saw who was sitting at the desk: tyler! looking about three times his age, balding and slightly wrinkled, clad in a pinstriped suit like a city banker, but definitely tyler. oh gosh, he looked _shattered_! his head was in his hands, and charlie thought she could tell why: piled up on the desk in front of him were mounds and mounds of sheets of paper, spilling onto messy piles on the floor.

"bills!" he roared. "stupid, endless, bloody bills! they come in every month, just to ruin your life! aaaghhh! joooddyyy!"

a door crashed open and in waddled jody. charlie's eyes bulged in amazement – jody was pregnant! not just pregnant, but really, _really_ pregnant. she seemed to be built like a house, sagging at the stomach where an _enormous_ baby bump rested – _surely_ a woman should have already given birth by the time it was _this_ big?

"what is it, tyler?" she asked, and the sheer exhaustion in her voice seemed about as bad, to charlie, as anything she'd seen in the workhouse before. "i'm busy. she won't go to sleep – i've just about got her settled down but we both know it's not going to last."

"oh, boo-hoo," mocked tyler; charlie was amazed at the cruelty in his voice. "look, jody, i've got so many of these bills to get through. can you help?" as she looked back at the pile of bills, charlie was _sure_ they'd multiplied since she last looked.

"no, of _course_ i can't help you, tyler!" said jody, anger rising in her tone of voice. "my _back_. ah! it's _killing_ me! have we got any more of those painkillers?"

"well, maybe if we got through the _bills,_ i'd know whether we have enough money to buy more!" protested tyler.

"oh _great_ , so that's a no, then."

suddenly there came a _howl_ from the baby monitor. jody rushed out the room to deal with it, leaving tyler engulfed by bills.

"get the point?" came mike's voice, resounding around charlie's head. "not just yet? then how about one more demonstration?"

* * *

and then suddenly, charlie was back at the dumping ground. sat on the swing seat in the garden, just metres away from the wormhole she'd walked through, she could see the party to end all parties unfolding before her. it was _amazing_.

the party guests were jay, rafiq, chloe, aisha, floss and joseph. they were all decked out in their best clothes, looking smarter than she'd ever seen them before. and they were having so much _fun_! bubblegum pop blared over the speakers, and the kids were dancing like crazy with big smiles on their faces. somewhere, concealed within a bus, a machine was enthusiastically spraying out soapy bubbles that popped in the air, mixing with the balloons which, tethered to the ground on strings, twirled and dipped about like crimson buoys in an invisible sea.

aisha, looking like a princess, had never seemed happier. joseph was wearing his favourite jumper and looked like he was having the time of his life. chloe and rafiq were sharing jokes, their faces contorting with laughter. and floss and jay were holding the fort at the well-stocked buffet table, cramming paper plates with sugary cake and crunchy crisps.

charlie revelled in the fun that everyone was clearly having. this was bliss! she made a beeline for the buffet table and turned to floss.

"hey, is there a plate for me?" she asked the younger girl – but there was no reply. floss kept talking to jay like nothing had even happened. "floss? can you hear me?" nothing. "floss, don't ignore me! floss!"

* * *

and there was white all around, devoid of door, wall or ceiling, carpet, furniture or feature. only mike stood there with charlie, dressed in his all-white outfit.

"that's enough of _that_ , i think," he said.

"i'm not allowed to join in?" asked charlie incredulously. "but that looked like so much fun."

"well, exactly. it _was_ fun. but i'm reliably informed that it's a type of fun that you don't want to _have_ anymore."

"wha-"

"-a little too childish for you, apparently?"

"no, i didn't- well… yes, i _might_ have said a few times that life at the dumping ground is a bit… childish… I suppose. but i didn't mean that i don't _like_ it!"

"so if you still want to stay at waterland house, why are you telling people you're so keen to leave it?"

"because i'm entitled to! mike, you might not like it, but whatever happens i'm moving on. if it's not to university, then i'll get a flat or something. i get it – i'm out of the system now. but it's difficult to leave! it's an amazing place to live, and yeah, maybe some of the activities you do with us are a bit childish, but that's okay!"

"we've got to make sure _everyone_ is entertained."

"yeah, i understand that. i suppose all of this kiddie stuff, it's like a rope that keeps me tied to childhood. and the reason why it's difficult is because of…"

"the big scary… _world_ out there," finished mike. "don't worry, charlie, i understand completely. university is a frightening time for anyone, let alone someone who's come from a background like yours. but i'm worried you're focusing on the negatives, instead of thinking about the positives! hey – at university, you won't have eleven noisy kids waking you up at seven o'clock in the morning! you'll be able to do your own thing, taste freedom that you haven't tasted before. and if you want that connection to childhood to stay strong, we're just a phone call away."

"thanks, mike," beamed charlie. "i guess the point of all these rooms was to tell me that… what, being a kid is fun but also hard, and so is being an adult?"

"yeah, that's it. but it doesn't seem quite right, does it?"

charlie thought for a moment, then realised what he meant. "so you showed me the bad sides and the good sides of being a child _and_ being an adult, but you never showed me what it's _really_ like." mike smiled on. "because being a kid is fun but challenging _at the same time_ – it's never just a day of fun followed by a day of misery; it's all mixed in together."

"and being an adult is just the same. charlie, growing up doesn't mean shifting from the easy life of childhood to the difficult world of being an adult. it doesn't mean losing your safety net, or gaining your independence. it's just about _learning_. learning more, about yourself and about the world around you. you might be doing your learning in a slightly different setting to where you've spent your childhood, but a change is never a bad thing."

"yeah, i get you. change is never a bad thing… that means a lot. whatever happens, i'm still the same person, and i can be as childish or as grown up as i want to be."

"that's the gist," confirmed mike. "charlie, you can be _anybody_ you want to be. come on, bring it in." they hugged, a long and lingering hug that filled charlie with warmth. "now, _i'd_ say it's time to bring some of that charlie cheer into these rooms. make it a bit more realistic, eh? go on; do your worst."

* * *

so charlie smiled and darted to the appearing door, climbing inside before it had even fully opened out from its invisible hinges. she found herself back at the dumping ground's amazing party in the garden, pinched two balloons and located the bubble machine. scooping them all up in her hands, she raced into the gruelling workhouse, and put the balloons and the machine down on the front bench. the kids' faces lit up as the bubbles soared higher and higher. charlie found herself smiling just watching them.

now time to sort out the other misery she'd been a witness to. in the white space again, charlie watched as a door opened out on the upper level. she quickly climbed the invisible stairs – somehow, _instinctively_ perhaps, knowing where they were – and grabbed a box of pizza from her friends' flat party. she knew exactly who needed this, and she couldn't have been happier to have darted out from behind the jackson-lewis household's pot plant when tyler was rummaging about in the piles of bills on the floor and to have placed that pizza on his desk. she laughed to herself as tyler looked back at the desk in bewilderment, and smiled as he opened the lid of the pizza box and glee filled his face; finally, her heart melted as she saw tyler call for jody, who pulled up a chair and scanned tyler's bills whilst munching a slice of pizza.

"home time now," announced mike, back in the void. "i hope you remember what you've learned today. you've been a good student. remember – life's not as black and white as you think it is."

charlie smiled, closed her eyes, and

* * *

found herself back in the garden of Waterland House!

"Found anything in that bush?" inquired Joseph, walking on his knees over to where Charlie had almost face-planted a shrub.

Charlie looked back at the garden and realised she was home. She couldn't have been happier.

"Charlie?"

She quickly looked back into the bush. There it was – another of their team's chocolate eggs. Perfect!

* * *

"Okay," announced Carmen to the assembled kids in the living room that evening. "Well, I don't think it'll come as any surprise to you lot, given how enthusiastic this team was, but the winners of our inaugural Dumping Ground August Egg Hunt are…"

Everybody held their breath.

"…Charlie and Joseph!"

The kids burst into polite applause, and Charlie and Joseph came to the front to collect a small specially-made engraved trophy. With his eyes, Joseph urged Charlie to speak. She waited for the clapping to end.

"Thank you very much for the prize, everyone," she said. "I hope everyone had fun at the egg hunt. Yeah, I thought it was a bit childish at first, and I'm sure some of you lot did as well, but if there's anything today's taught me, it's that a bit of childishness is never a bad thing – _even_ when you're soon gonna be a grown-up.

"I'd like to take this opportunity also to say sorry to you all. I've been mean to you, I know I have, and I regret it all – I've been stressing about something that there's no need to stress over, so from now on, you don't need to be scared about walking by my bedroom door anymore." The kids laughed.

"As you guys know, I'm leaving for university next month, and I think what I really need to appreciate, and what I _haven't_ been appreciating, is you guys. I'm really lucky to be a part of this great big family, and that's something I probably hadn't realised. So I'm sorry for being snappy with you.

"Yeah, I'm nervous to face the future, but I'm excited too. I know that, if I put my mind to it, my future is mine to make… and that's the best feeling in the world."

And the kids broke out into applause again.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! If you did, feel free to leave a review! After a couple of stories where I had a few different plots on the go, weaving themselves around each other, it was refreshing to have a much more linear episode (by necessity of the plot). This was intended to be very much in the style of fairytale-ish episodes of _The Dumping Ground_ such as the 'Jody in Wonderland' special from 2013 and the 'Harry in Shakespeareland' chapter of _The Dumping Ground: Love and War_ that I wrote the following year. Happily, there was very little research for this one - only a little look into workhouse practices in the 18th century. Who would have thought that _that_ would be necessary research for a Dumping Ground story? ****This chapter was written 15-27 December 2018.**

 **Here's a sneak preview for next week:**  
A legendary ex-resident returns to the Dumping Ground, more than a little worse for wear. The Young People try to work out what on earth's up with him, but the careworkers are keeping quiet and the returnee himself is only intent on sussing out his new cohabitants. As well as this excitement, the prospect of a glamorous TV chef visiting Waterland House sends the Young People into a frenzy, but Floss's antics might result in disruption to the whole day! Elsewhere in the Dumping Ground, Elektra teeters on the edge of making what could prove to be a big mistake.  
 **Episode 7, "Goetia", is coming next Friday (1 March).**


	7. A Demon at Waterland House

"What the hell is this?" asked the boy in black, staring in revulsion at the plate that had just been set down in front of him.

"Burnywood's finest," said the careworker in an uninterested monotone.

"Steak?" the boy queried incredulously. He glanced at the hunk of screaming pink flesh. "But you _know_ I'm vegetarian. Have you gone senile, or…?"

"It'll do you the world of good," insisted the careworker.

"That's a yes, then."

"How do you _expect_ to cure this anaemia thing? You need iron, and steak is packed with it. Just eat it; you'll feel better for it, I promise."

"You know what? I don't _like_ your promises. It's _not_ anaemia – I thought we'd been through this. I hope I won't have to make myself clear again."

"You can't just pretend to be a scientist and self-diagnose. This is _serious_ , and if I say it's anaemia, I'm a darn sight more qualified than you to say it's anaemia."

"Yeah, just shut up and eat it," insisted the girl next to him.

"We both know I get _more_ than enough iron, every day," retorted the boy. "If it was anaemia, I'd've known it ages ago. I'm not eating your fucking steak."

"Language!" roared the careworker.

"Fuck your language! I'm SICK of you doing things like this. It's disrespectful – we're _people_ , not animals." The careworker opened his mouth to speak. " _Don't_ say you're doing what's best for me," interjected the boy, before the careworker could talk. "If that's what you truly think, then you don't know what's best for me at all."

"Be quiet! You're making a scene," a girl opposite whined, in between greedily shoving in mouthfuls of her own steak.

"Ugh, _you lot_ as well – you can't do _anything_ except get on my nerves, can you? Well, you know what? _I quit_. I'm OUT of here!" The boy stormed away from the table and made his way to the doorway of the kitchen.

"OI!" roared the careworker. "I DON'T KNOW _WHO_ YOU THINK YOU ARE, SONNY JIM, BUT YOU _DON'T_ HAVE COMPLETE CONTROL OVER THE CARE SYSTEM! IF I SAY YOU'RE STAYING HERE… YOU'RE STAYING HERE!"

Demon raised a quizzical eyebrow. "And you really believe that, do you?"

He vanished from the room.

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 7: "A Demon at Waterland House"**

* * *

The two motorbikes cruised back into the garage of Waterland House, staying in sync all the way until they came to a stop. Still sharing the same natural rhythm, the two riders dismounted and took off their helmets.

Ryan smiled at Elektra. "Nice riding."

"Not so bad yourself," returned a beaming Elektra, discarding her blue leather jacket. They laughed.

"That was _so cool_!" said Ryan. He couldn't help but stare at Elektra's exposed arms and bra strap as she stood in her sleeveless grey top – but he wasn't exactly sure _why_.

"What, the wheelies? Forgot I could do them, to be honest. It was nice to feel that adrenaline – wind in your hair, tarmac squealing underneath you, know what I'm saying?"

Ryan nodded dumbly, because in truth, he hadn't been listening to what Elektra had said. Although it disgusted him a little to say it… he'd been staring into her eyes. They were almost like green pools that he couldn't resist swimming in. He hadn't paid attention to a single word.

Ugh – what was _happening_ to him?

Surely not… the L word?

And surely not with _Elektra_?

* * *

"Post for you, Chloe," smiled Carmen as she deposited a slim brown envelope in front of Chloe at the breakfast table.

"What is it? What is it?" cooed Aisha. The kids of Waterland House weren't really accustomed to people getting lots of post, so every letter that pinged through the letterbox was like buried treasure to be uncovered.

"It's about a competition she entered," said Ryan, waltzing into the kitchen. Chloe got to work opening the envelope. As Ryan was about to sit down, Elektra entered the room; Ryan, pretending he'd just suddenly realised something important, darted from the kitchen, and the others heard feet pounding up the stairs.

"I won!" Chloe cried. "Oh my goodness, everyone, I actually won!"

"What did you win?" asked Aisha.

"Yeah, what's the prize?" asked Tyler.

Floss interjected, "Is it… _edible_?"

"Kind of…" explained Chloe. "It was this thing I saw in a magazine – 'cooking with the stars'."

"So what's the _prize_?"

"Valentina Lovejoy, the chef – she's going to come here and cook with us!"

The Young People broke into a chorus of excited chatter. This was Big News.

"Valentina Lovejoy, off the telly?" checked Tyler.

"That's the one – and she's coming here on Monday."

The Young People were all ecstatic at the exciting news, all apart from one. Floss ran off to her room. She was going to have _no_ part in this.

* * *

Demon was stood by an enormous, thick, imposing iron gate. It was a freezing morning, but he would have done _anything_ to be here right now, because it was going to be the start of his path to freedom.

As the minutes ticked by, Demon grew more and more anxious. He checked his phone again – 11:18. She was nearly twenty minutes late. Didn't she know how much this meant to him?

At last, he heard stiletto footsteps approaching the gate, which duly slid open to spit out the woman he'd been waiting for. Dressed in black skinny jeans over her skinny legs and a loose black and white T-shirt, her brown hair pushed into spikes at the top by a striped pink and black scrunchie, his twenty-something social worker looked just as fierce as he remembered her.

"Twenty minutes," Demon tutted. "That's almost a record. Well done." One day she'd be on time for a meeting – although, to be fair, they'd never met at a prison before.

"Cut me some slack!" she protested. "They took _ages_ giving me my gear back." She indicated a black leather drawstring bag. "It'll be the same for you, when you _inevitably_ end up in there one day."

Demon laughed and playfully punched the social worker on the arm. "So what were you actually _in_ for?"

"A very, _very_ minor shoplifting. Just some earrings – thought Chantal'd like them."

"Shit, it's her birthday soon, isn't it? I'll get something next time I'm in town. Does anyone else know about your little prison stay, then?"

" _One night_ , Demon! One night in prison is _nothing_."

"Yeah, but you're a _social worker_ , Roxy! It doesn't exactly sound brilliant, does it? I can picture the headlines now – 'Social Worker In Shoplifting Scandal'. '55-year-old Roxy Wellard, of Talbot Ward, was found nicking earrings from the mall because she's _so cheap_.'"

"You cheeky sod!" she laughed. "Anyway, clearly the police don't think what I did was too bad, or they'd have locked me up for longer, I guess. Thanks for picking me up."

"Yeah, well, what I want to talk about is kind of urgent," Demon confessed as they walked, "so I could ideally have done _without_ you getting nicked. Honestly, you'll do anything to delay a meeting."

"Hey, I'm here _now_! And _if_ you keep this whole prison thing secret, I'm all ears. Can we get chips?"

* * *

Hours later, Demon and Roxy sat facing each other over steaming cappuccinos. Roxy was sponging off Caffe Nero's wifi and brandished a chocolate chip muffin like a bomb. A notebook lay in the middle of them, filled with her spidery handwriting.

"What about Icehill?" the social worker asked.

Demon shook his head. "First-degree burns last time I was there."

Roxy nodded as she bit into the muffin, crossing a name off her list in her notebook. "Ok, I get you. There's always Blakely Hall Farm? That's meant to be nice."

"Yeah, I know – I was there for a few weeks. _Apart_ from the fact it smells of manure… I don't go back to places I've left."

"Yeah, but do you see the problem here? You've been… _everywhere_! According to your file, there are barely any care homes in the North East that you _haven't_ been in." Roxy's voice sounded harsh and almost robotic, but Demon thought it was soothing.

"Really? I can't have gone through them _all_ , can I?"

"Um, _yeah_! Pretty much. And I doubt many of your old care homes will want you back."

"What do you mean?"

"I've got notes in your file from five or six of them flat-out _refusing_ to have you back."

"Oh… just try some of the ones that won't remember me, then."

Roxy sipped her cappuccino; it left her with a foam moustache. "Hang on! There's _one_ new home here, we could try them… Waterland House. Oh, but wait – I think that's run by the people from another care home. One sec, I'll get it up…" She tapped the relevant page on her phone and quickly scanned the information. Then she looked up at Demon, her mouth wide open in shock. "Oh my god, I wondered what happened to him! Look-" She angled the phone towards him. "-Lead Care Worker: Michael Milligan."

" _Mike_?" spluttered Demon.

* * *

"Afternoon, ladies," said Elektra as she breezed into the office and dumped her bag and coat on a chair in the corner. "And how are we doing today?"

"Not too bad," replied Carmen. "You?"

"Bit tired. Do either of you want a cup of tea?"

"Actually," said Mike, "since you're both here, I do have a bit of news to share with you both… Pull up a chair, then." Carmen and Elektra scrambled to pull up swivel chairs; Mike sat on his desk and addressed the pair of them. "We're getting a new arrival."

"Ooh, exciting!" trilled Carmen. Elektra looked at her oddly, clearly not sharing in the enthusiasm.

"Tomorrow night, in fact. He's coming from Burnywood."

"Burnywood?" spluttered Carmen, her enthusiasm instantly destroyed. "We're taking in a _Burnywood_ kid?!"

" _Yes_ ," said Mike. "Carmen, he's not a 'Burnywood kid' – he's just a kid. Anyway, that's not all. It's…"

"What?" asked Elektra.

Mike looked stuck for a minute. "… It's Demon."

Carmen and Elektra reacted to this revelation like a bomb had gone off in the room. Both of them sat forward in their chairs, as their eyes bulged.

" _Demon_?!" squawked Carmen. "No, you can't! Mike, I don't- I can't… _why_?"

"Burnywood's not seeming like the best fit for him, so I said we'd take him in."

"Mike, there's a reason he _went_ to Burnywood! Why do you want him back?"

" _Because_ as careworkers, we owe every child a fair chance, and that's what I'm giving him. Anyway, Elektra, you're his friend; this should be nice news for you."

"Yeah… yeah, it is," said Elektra absent-mindedly. "We haven't talked for a while, that's all. But… yeah, it'll be cool." An infectious smile started to spread across her face. "A bit weird, but… yeah, let's give it a go."

Outside the office, Jay, who'd heard the whole thing, crept out from his hiding place under the hallway piano and scampered into the lounge.

"There's a new kid coming tomorrow!" he shouted to the six or seven kids who littered the red sofas and armchairs idly reading magazines or fiddling with consoles.

"Whoa, really?" Rafiq asked excitedly.

"How do you know?" Chloe wondered.

"Mike was talking about it," answered Jay. "I think he's been here before. Carmen and Elektra acted like they knew him."

"Oh, so it's a him," Aisha said mournfully. "That's a shame; I thought I was getting a new friend."

"Aisha, girls can be friends with boys _too_ ," Tyler pointed out from his armchair.

"Like you and Jody?" joked Chloe.

Tyler ignored that. "Anyway – Jay, if it's someone who's been here before, we might know them. Who is it?"

"Demon."

Tyler nearly fell off his chair; everyone noticed.

"Tyler! Are you okay?" asked Chloe.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"Why did you fall off?" inquired Rafiq. "Is it something to do with the new boy – do you know him?"

" _Do I know him._ Oh Rafiq, I don't think you realise the trouble we're in."

* * *

Elektra locked the door of the careworkers' bathroom, put her set of clean clothes on the floor and sat on top of the closed toilet. She needed some thinking time.

She looked at the mud caking her shins – yeah, it was pretty cool being paid to go out riding her motorbike (apparently it counted as an 'enrichment activity' for Ryan), but not on as rainy a day as this! Still, at least Ryan seemed to enjoy it.

And there was the problem.

Ryan.

Why, why, _why_ was she feeling this way? What was she even feeling? Love? She didn't even know. All she knew was that she stared into his eyes and got a funny feeling in her tummy.

She _loved_ going riding with him. They had the best times ever, and always came back with smiles on their faces. But how did she make the leap from that innocuous enough activity to love? He was handsome, sure, and their personalities melded perfectly, but that wasn't enough to explain what she felt. Sharing personality traits is a feature of good friendship – but she knew it was something more than friendship that she was craving.

Love, then?

She didn't want to admit it. It felt dirty. Was it even _legal_? For a careworker to be in a relationship with one of their Young People? Probably not. But, after all, Ryan was 17 now – old enough to make up his own mind. And if Elektra was reading the signs right, Ryan wanted it too.

Ugh!

Why was this sort of thing so bloody _difficult_?

* * *

Later that day, Elektra found herself dusting the surfaces in the living room. The only other person in the room was Chloe, and she'd been staring into space for a good few minutes now. Elektra was going to have to say _something_.

"Are… you… okay?" she asked pointedly

"Oh, yeah, yeah. It's just… no, it doesn't matter."

"What?" laughed Elektra. "I'm sure it _does_ matter. You can always talk to me if you want to, you know?"

"Okay, it's Ryan. I was just thinking about how… I'm not sure, how much _happier_ he is? Something's up with him, it must be."

"Well, that's what _I'm_ thinking. Ryan – happy?" asked Elektra incredulously, prompting a snigger from Chloe.

"But he _is_! He seems happy – _unusually_ happy, that is."

"Oh god, I hope he's not up to anything."

"No, I can tell when he's up to something. Sisters just know. No, it's like something's changed, or something's come into his life, that wasn't there before. And it's just… made him… happy."

"Well I'm glad he's happy. That's _kind of_ what we want you lot to be. And, if Ryan's happy, then the rest of us are safe from his… meddling."

Chloe laughed and went on her way. Elektra returned to her dusting, with a small, secretive smile on her face; there'd been a positive change in Ryan's life, and she could easily guess what – or _who_ – that was…

* * *

The big grandfather clock in the hall feebly chimed 3 o'clock. 3 in the morning, that is. According to several countries' folklore, 3am is known as the witching hour. Waterland House was about to discover some truth in that superstition.

There came a rain of frantic knocks on the front door. Euan, the night manager for that shift, groggily pulled on a dressing gown and lumbered to the front door. He retrieved the key from his pocket and turned it in the lock.

Ah, the dodgy key! It jammed and Euan pulled it out, tried again, fought the key's resistance in the lock, pushed it until it dug an imprint in his thumb – round, round, just a tiny bit more…

The door snapped open –

nearly flew off its hinges with the force –

the bang made Euan jump –

Mike and a twenty-something Goth-styled social worker Euan didn't recognise burst through the door –

they each supported one arm of a lanky figure in black slumped between them –

his legs trailed uselessly along the carpet as Mike and the woman raced to the stairs –

Mike hurriedly, loudly, whispered "Car's open – can you get his bags?" –

Euan darted outside –

Mike and Roxy dragged the boy up the stairs –

"Ring 999 the second we get him to the bed," Mike urged –

They rounded the corner on the stairs and lurched onto the landing –

Euan returned and they'd gone.

* * *

"Tyler said he was the most badly-behaved kid in the whole of the Dumping Ground," reported Rafiq.

"I _think_ he used the word 'evil'," added Floss.

"Apparently he actually went to secure for _more_ than a day," Jay said, sticking his tongue out at a scowling Sasha.

"So he's worse than Ryan?" checked Aisha.

"Oh yeah, _much_ worse," Tyler replied, coming into the kitchen and getting a bowl out from the cupboard. "Morning, guys."

He had barely poured his cereal before a barrage of questions came, one at a time from each child – like it was an organised interrogation.

"Is it true that he ran away all the time?"

"Well, yeah, all the time. Whenever he wanted, really. It seemed like he didn't really want to be here."

"So why d'you think he's coming back?"

"Maybe he had no other options. I mean, he's been in nearly every care home there _is_. They all keep sending him back, like they can't handle him anymore."

"Sounds like literally _dozens_ of people at my old care homes," commented Ryan, pretending to yawn.

"No. If you think you're ready for him: you're not. If you think he'll be like anything you've seen before: you're wrong. He's _relentless_."

"Is he… mean?"

"Hmm, difficult one. If you get on his bad side, you better run. Otherwise you might be alright."

"Yeah, but will he prank me when I'm trying to, I don't know, _go about my daily life like a normal person with human rights_?"

"Nah, _I'm_ still the king of pranks. I don't think he's into that kind of thing."

"How do you get on his good side?"

"Joseph, if I'd cracked that one, I wouldn't be sitting here _dreading_ him coming. Stay out of his way, that's my advice."

"I hope that's not my _friend_ you're talking about," Elektra said, coming into the kitchen from the laundry room adjacent. She made the word 'friend' stick out like a sharpened dagger.

"You're his _friend_?" scoffed Floss.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that," Tyler admitted sheepishly.

"How would _you_ lot feel," asked Elektra, "if it was your first day and everyone was spreading rumours about you, before you even met everyone?"

"It's _not_ his first day, though," pointed out Tyler. "His first day was the one where he pushed Tee over as soon as he met her, covered Johnny in orange juice, and then escaped."

"That was years ago! He's grown up now! Seriously, guys, don't take everything Tyler says at face value – he wasn't even _here_ for Demon's first day. _I_ was. Yes, he takes some getting used to, but he's not half as bad as Tyler's making him out to be."

Aisha loudly sighed, relieved at what Elektra had told her. Some of the other kids laughed at that.

"Where is he, then? I thought he was coming really early. It's nine already," asked Jay.

"Yeah, when we said 'really early', we meant _reeeeaaallllly_ early," said Carmen. "He got here in the night, but he's… not going to be around today, I don't think. As you can probably imagine, he needs his sleep. And _so_ does Mike, who was up until three in the morning waiting for him."

"But today's the day when Valentina Lovejoy off the telly's coming," noted Chloe excitedly. "Won't Mike want to be around for that?"

"Yes, he will!" cried Mike, striding in the kitchen with a spring in his step and a big white chef's hat perched on his head. The kids laughed – somebody was keen.

* * *

A rap on the door.

"She's here!" called Chloe, her eyes widening with anticipation. She wheeled herself towards the door, and felt a _whoosh_ going past her. It was Bird and Mike, racing each other to be the one to open the door. They reached the handle at the same time, yanked it down, and… just stood there. Transfixed, their eyes nearly popping out of their skulls.

Valentina Lovejoy was known for her looks as much as she was for her cooking; today, her mahogany locks were left flowing to just below her shoulders, her curves were encased in a light red frock under an expensive-looking leather coat, and her luscious chocolate-brown eyes were lethal weapons with powers of hypnotism.

"Good morning, Miss Lovejoy!" Mike simpered, instantly under her spell. "It's-it's a pleasure to meet you." He stuck out a hand for her to shake, but she pulled him into a hug, which he enthusiastically fell into – he could hardly believe his luck.

Determined not to be beaten, Bird asked, just a little too forcefully, "Can I make you a cup of tea, Miss Lovejoy?"

"Valentina, please – I've no time for formalities," smiled the chef, speaking in a rich, velvety Southern drawl. "And yes, my love, that'd be _divine_." Bird scampered off to the kitchen, whilst Mike fumbled about putting Valentina's coat on the coat-stand.

"And you must be Chloe," Valentina addressed the girl.

"Yes," smiled Chloe. "It's amazing to meet you!"

"No, no, it's amazing to meet _you_ , darling – I _loved_ the sponge-cake recipe you sent in. So innovative – simple yet… _delicious_."

"You mean you actually _tried_ it?"

"Tried it and _loved_ it," said Valentina, as they crossed to the kitchen. "Right, we might as well start cooking now, if you'd like that; we've got a lot to do."

"Yeah, that's fine. I think a few of the others wanted to join in – is that okay?"

"The _more_ the _merrier_ , my sweet."

They turned into the kitchen, to find Rafiq, Joseph, Ryan, Tyler, Jay, Mike and Bird all waiting, sporting an odd array of assorted aprons and chefs' hats, Bird brandishing his cup of tea like an engagement ring. All the male members of the house. What a coincidence. Chloe glared at them as she entered.

"Morning, boys!" smiled Valentina. "Who's ready to get something _divine_ , _succulent_ , _hot_ and _filling_ inside them? I know _I_ am!"

… um.

Chloe looked puzzled for a moment, whilst all the boys merely melted in her gaze. "It's a _gorgeous_ pasta dish, and if it goes well enough, it's our lunch!"

"Sounds brilliant," enthused Jay.

"You've got a bit of dribble," remarked Bird.

"Oh yeah, and look who's talking," hissed Chloe, mildly unhappy at the boys taking over her day and fighting over Valentina.

"Right, lads, what's the first thing we need?"

"… to wash our hands?" tried Tyler.

"Good start," Valentina patted Tyler on the shoulder and he silently promised himself he'd never change this shirt. " _Apart_ from that, what do we need?"

"A saucepan," declared Chloe, confidently. "They're just in here." She opened the cupboard with the pans in it. Except now it was the cupboard with _nothing_ in it. It was bare – all the pans had vanished! "Um, Mike… you didn't use all the pans for tea last night, did you?"

"No, there should be a few left."

"Well… there isn't."

"No pans? That's not a brilliant start," said Valentina. "How can we cook without pans? I'll have to leave!"

"NO!" shouted all the boys in unison.

"Not to worry," tittered Valentina. "I carry spares in my car. I'll be back in a minute."

* * *

In the sanctuary of her room, Floss opened the wardrobe door and pulled a few jumpers off their hangers. Shooting a sideways glance at the door to check it was shut, she ducked down onto her knees and used the jumpers to cover the pans at the bottom of the wardrobe.

After all, they had to stay well-hidden. And _she_ had to make Valentina go home – but how? Just stealing pans wouldn't be enough (she was _famous_ for keeping spares in her car), so what could- ah. An idea. Yes, that might work.

Floss shut the wardrobe and crept out of her room and down the stairs. She took a deep breath, ready to enact her grand masterplan, and tiptoed into the kitchen-

"Hello there, little miss," came Valentina's velvet voice, shot at Floss like a missile.

The plan would have to wait. Floss squealed, and ran back out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Is this definitely a good idea? Mike did say he needed sleep – maybe we should leave him alone?" asked Aisha.

"He has to eat!" reasoned Rafiq, spearheading a group of kids who had gathered beside Demon's bedroom door. Lunchtime had been and gone, and he still hadn't surfaced. Rafiq and his sister, Sasha, Joseph, Jody and a curious Ryan had decided, therefore, to bring him some food – and do some prying while they were at.

"Okay, let's go," Joseph decided, and Rafiq pushed the door open.

The kids filed into what had been Charlie's old room; there were already two tins of black paint on the floor by the radiator, sitting on top of a pile of newspaper – clearly the new boy was planning a speedy redecoration.

"I think he's still asleep," said Aisha; Demon, still dressed in a black polo shirt and skinny jeans, was curled up in a ball on the bed, on top of the bed. His messy strands of raven-black hair sprawled out over the pillow.

"Yeah, well done, dumbo," said Jody. "What I want to know is what are _those_?" She pointed to the bedside table, where there were a multitude of pills of varying shapes and sizes; they had already attracted the attention of Ryan, who was staring at them, trying to divine what they were.

"Shall we take the food away, then?" asked Sasha.

"No, he might want it for when he wakes up," whispered Joseph.

"Shall we look through some of his stuff?" said Ryan. It was all there, looking to Ryan like a chocolate box, still packed into four or five big suitcases and bags, which sat like an immobile army in the middle of the carpet.

" _Ryan_!" remonstrated Sasha.

"What? I just thought it might give us an idea about who he _is_. We can see if what Tyler said is true."

"Let's just wait for him to _tell_ us about himself; it's easier that way," advised Jody.

"Yeah, but it's no _fun_!"

"Keep your voice down!" hissed Joseph. "We don't want to wake him."

"Ah, who cares?" laughed Ryan, purposefully letting his voice grow a little louder. "It's one in the afternoon! _We've_ all been up for hours! Why _shouldn't_ we wake him up?"

The boy in the bed suddenly sat up bolt upright, and howled: "BECAUSE YOU NEVER WAKE A SLEEPING DRAGON! **GET OUT!** "

The kids all ran, terrified, from the room, and slammed the door behind them.

* * *

"You're not half bad at this," Valentina complimented Bird. "Of course, our Chloe here is a natural" – Chloe beamed – "but that isn't to say you aren't talented, too… Bird, was it?"

"Yeah," blushed Bird.

"Such an unusual name; I love it." Bird blushed all over again. "Do you cook a lot in your spare time, Bird?"

"Oh, all the time," lied the boy who still hadn't mastered beans on toast. "Yeah, there isn't a day goes by when I haven't got a dish on the go."

"That's _brilliant_ to hear," enthused Valentina. "These days, there are so many kids your age who just don't _care_ for cooking. It's an art. It's beautiful. It's the communion of body with food; the sustenance isn't so much the meal you produce at the end, it's the sustenance of the _body_. _Feeling_ the ingredients in your hands… kneading the dough with the most _delicate_ touch your hands can muster. Hearing the _fizz_ and the _pop_ , smelling the _salty_ and the _tangy_ , seeing the _sizzle_ and the _melting_ , tasting the _sweet heaven_ at the climax of the whole process. It's so… _sensual_ … … … Can you pass the sugar, please?"

The answer was no. Bird looked like he very much needed an immediate lie down. Chloe passed over the handily labelled sugar jar. Just to make certain, Valentina licked a pinkie and dipped it in. She grimaced.

"No, _no_ , that's SALT!"

"It's sugar. It says so on the jar."

"Well, someone's messing me around. And I won't stand for it!"

"Valentina, it's okay-"

"No, it isn't! _Twice_ this has happened to me today. I haven't come here to be the victim of cruel pranks. I came here to _cook_! And there's been precious little of _that_! Chloe, it's been a pleasure to meet you, but I can't work in these conditions. I'm out!"

She turned on her heels and left the kitchen.

* * *

How dare they come into his room without permission? How dare they snoop about with his stuff? He didn't know who they were, but he didn't like them.

Demon cautiously opened his door, stuck his head out into the corridor and, checking the coast was clear, tiptoed down the stairs. He wasn't too sure about this new house – but, he supposed, nothing's as good as it was when you were a kid.

He looked like a panther, dressed all in black, as he prowled down to the bottom of the stairs, his sights firmly on the office, where the _mother_ of all complaints was about to be made to Mike.

The second his foot touched the carpet, a young girl of seven or so appeared, dressed in orange with a shiny black bob – he recognised her from earlier.

"Hello," the girl said cautiously. "We're sorry for being in your room earlier." Demon merely stared at her.

He heard frantic footsteps on the carpet, and a flurry of children quickly arrived – some younger than him, some older. There was a beaming girl in a wheelchair, and a shock of flaming orange hair attached to a girl, and a small boy in a hideously scratchy-looking brown jumper, and Tyler – the only face he recognised. They seemingly came from all around – from upstairs, from the kitchen, from out of the floorboards for all he knew, but they were _everywhere_. All around him, on all sides – suffocating him.

And the _questions_ they were asking. "Is it true you were at Burnywood?" and "why have you come back?" _he was feeling it again_ and "why weren't we allowed to see you?" and "is it true what Tyler said?" _no, not again, not in front of them all_ and "will you be my friend?" and "did you eat the food we brought?" _on his first day back as well_ and "do you want to meet Valentina?" _he couldn't take it any longer_ and "who are you?" and "hello!" and "hello!" _he couldn't breathe_ and "hello!" and "hello!" _he couldn't BREATHE_ and "hello!" and "hello!" and "hello!" and

Demon collapsed like a detonating building. He sank to the ground and smashed his head on the floor.

* * *

Once again, Floss found herself tiptoeing to the kitchen with sabotage on her mind. After all she'd done, Valentina hadn't left yet! Mike and Bird had apparently convinced her to stay for one more recipe, and so there was some wonderful cake on its way soon.

This was her best idea yet, and frankly, if _this_ wouldn't get Valentina to clear off then nothing would. She was going to steal the knob off the oven. It was flimsy at the best of times, and Mike kept saying he was going to get it fixed, so this was her chance. Everyone would think it had just… fallen off? Without it, there'd be no way to control the temperature, no way to start the oven even, if she was lucky. _Hmm_ , she mused as she wandered towards the kitchen, _I might take a couple of oven trays as well. Best to be on the safe side_.

Like a magpie spying silver, Floss greedily eyed up the oven. There was nobody in the kitchen – the coast was clear – it was time to strike! She pounced on the oven knob, stealing a last furtive glance around the kitchen. And that's when she noticed something was up.

Floss was _sure_ all the cake ingredients had been there on the counter, precisely measured by Valentina and laid out in pretty-patterned porcelain bowls (god knows where they'd come from), like today was another TV shoot and Waterland House another pretend TV kitchen. But now there was nothing there.

… Apart from a small trace of flour dusting the worktop like thin snow. (At least, Floss hoped it was flour – she'd heard rumours about Valentina.) A small trace which became a trail; she saw it snaking across the kitchen floor and out the side door. Intrigued, Sherlock Guppy followed the flour trail as far as she could – out of the kitchen, down the steps, along the side of the house, and (she could just about make out the floor sitting on top of the blades of grass) out into the garden.

Oh. The trail had stopped dead.

She looked up – and was shocked by what she saw.

Forming an enormous mound in the middle of the garden was a big pile of bright flour, encrusted with glistening caster sugar, its white glare broken up by baking powder. Three cracked eggs slid tauntingly down the little hill, with an unbroken egg sitting on top.

What a terrible moment for Mike to arrive.

"FLOSS?" she heard him call from the side door. At the same time – footsteps. Getting nearer. "FLOSS? Valentina's about to make a cake, do you- Oh my _goodness_."

She knew how terrible this looked. There she was, standing in front of a pile of baking ingredients. For the first time, she realised how easily her customary smile could be misconstrued as gleeful relish.

Valentina tottered into the garden as well. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw the sight. " _Young lady_ ," she began. "All day, you've been acting oddly! All day, I've been suspicious of you! I _knew_ you were up to no good, but _this_ … I have no words, I really don't."

"Floss, how could you _do_ this?" asked Mike despairingly.

"No, Mike, it wasn't me! It's not- I wasn't- I just… I know what it looks like."

"And so do I, Floss." Floss couldn't mistake the utter _disappointment_ in his voice. "Nice try, but you're grounded. For a _month_. I mean, do you have any idea of the _disruption_ you've caused? The _embarrassment_? Valentina is a TV _star_ , and she's had to come here today and suffer so many… _setbacks_ , all because of you. Go to your room."

Choking back a tear, and determined not to show it, Floss ran out of the garden.

* * *

Elektra pulled in by the side of the road and walked with her bike a few metres, stopping under a tree. Ryan followed suit, and they both pulled off their helmets.

"Why are we stopping?" asked Ryan, trying his best to hide the smile on his face.

Elektra quickly found that smile infectious. "Becaauuse our hour's almost up. Sorry, but it's home time."

Ryan was amazed. It felt like they'd only been riding for a few minutes. Time flies and all that. He hated it when their rides ended; he just wanted them to go on forever. It was a cliché, sure, but it was just so _freeing_. And the company wasn't half bad, either.

"Come on then, let's go," he said, but then he noticed the first emerging flecks of drizzle. "Wait – it's raining. Can't we stay under here until it stops?"

"It's barely spitting!" scoffed Elektra. "Anyone would think you _wanted_ to be conveniently stuck under a tree with me."

"Yeah, well, maybe I _do_!"

She laughed, a little nervous. "What do you mean, Ryan?"

Ryan had never been one to mince his words, but suddenly his most powerful weapon failed him, and his tongue was tied up in knots, his mouth dry and useless. He took a minute, frantically clearing his throat. "Maybe… I _want_ to spend more time with you. A _lot_ more time, I mean."

"Chloe said you've been a lot happier recently," prompted Elektra, trying to help him get to what he wanted to say.

Ryan cleared his throat again – this was something that every bone in his body was _ordering_ him to say. "Yeah, and it's because of _you_."

Elektra took a deep breath out. He was actually going to say it.

"Elektra, when we're out riding it makes me _so_ happy. _So_ happy – like you'd never understand or believe. And yeah, I love the bike and I love riding it, but it's _more_ than that."

"What is it, then?" asked Elektra, taking a step towards Ryan, who flinched a little – clearly his emotions were wrestling each other, his caution against his impulse, his fear against his heart, and none in particular was winning yet.

"… It's _you_."

"You don't just mean that you like being my friend, do you?" asked Elektra.

Nervously, Ryan shook his head to agree with her. He fought every impulse in his body and avoided meeting her eyes. Were his eyes watering? He'd never given himself over to somebody like this before.

And that's how he knew he was making the right decision.

"I think…" he breathed, each syllable soaking with anxiety like the raindrop onslaught above. "I think I love you."

And there it was.

Finally, after a pause of at least five hundred years, Ryan's eyes moved downwards. Eventually, they rested on a smiling Elektra. To him, she was like a vision. A perfect angel.

His eyes frantically searched hers for a reply. But it was her _lips_ that replied, cautiously approaching his, seeking approval for what Ryan had always wanted. Their mouths met, and fireworks exploded in their brains.

* * *

Floss sat on her bed with her knees tucked up into her chest, a single-file regiment of saucepans next to her, and nothing but shame in her heart. She'd ruined Chloe's day, apart from anything else. She'd thought that she was doing the right thing, but now… now it seemed like maybe she hadn't properly thought about what the right thing was.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Go away!" cried Floss, the exclamation coming out like a sob.

Valentina came in, and sat on the end of the bed, taking care to avoid sitting on the handle of a pan.

"Mike told me you'd say that," she explained. "He told me to come in anyway. I hope you don't mind." Valentina tried to meet Floss' eyes, but the girl was desperately trying to cover up how red they still were. "… Why did you do it, Floss?"

What was the point in denying it now? Floss slowly took her hands away from her eyes; Valentina handed her a tissue. "My mum," Floss said. "She _loved_ you. She was your biggest fan, that's what she always said. I remember we used to make your recipes together – it was like a special weekend treat; we… we went to the supermarket and we bought all the ingredients together, and Mum lifted me up so I could reach everything on the high shelves, and then… we made one of your meals. Just mum and me."

"That's lovely to hear. I'm so… overjoyed I could bring you that experience."

"So am I," sighed Floss wistfully. "But she's not here anymore, and it's not gonna happen anymore. And then _you_ turned up! And I… I didn't want anyone else to have that experience."

"But _lots_ of people make my recipes, all over the world! You can't be annoyed at _all_ of them."

"But not right under my nose, they don't! I just… I was afraid it would remind me of all the good times I can't have anymore. It's silly."

"No – no, Floss, it's not silly at all. I understand it completely. You needed me to leave because you didn't want those memories to come back. But you don't have to _hide_ from your memories! Especially good ones. Memories are _wonderful_ , Floss – they're a permanent imprint of the experiences we've had and the things we've gone through. Even though you might not be able to make those recipes with your mum anymore, I'll bet it wasn't the taste that you liked best – I think it was the time you had with her. And you've _always_ got that memory. Keep it stored in your brain, and bring it out when you're feeling lonely, or left out. That's what it's there for."

"But I did it all wrong. I should have just _explained_ it to you this morning!"

"Well… _maybe_. But it's a personal thing, and I know why you did it the way you did. I'm so glad my recipes helped you and your mum make those memories, but good memories like those will _never_ leave you. Me being here now won't change that. Have you read Dr Seuss?"

Floss nodded.

"Well, Dr Seuss said something that I've always kept in my heart. It's a little bit cheesy, but I like it: 'don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened'."

Floss smiled. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, honestly. I've had the most… _interesting_ day for quite some time here today, and that's mostly down to you. It's been lovely to meet you."

"One more thing… Valentina, I didn't put the cake ingredients in the garden, I _promise_ you I didn't."

"Do you know, Floss, I believe you wholeheartedly on that one. Before I go… how about one more chance? Does that sound good? I've got time for one more recipe, I reckon, but I'll need an assistant. What do you fancy?"

Floss beamed. "Well, there is _something_ …"

* * *

The evening was starting to roll in, and most of the kids were sat around the table in the kitchen, where Floss and Valentina stood next to each other, proudly displaying a small plate almost sagging under the weight of a delicious-looking, shining hunk of millionaire's shortbread. Floss's favourite.

"Are you ready?" Valentina asked her protégé, handing her a fork.

"Aren't _you_ going to try it first? It's your recipe," Floss asked.

"You're the chef! From the looks of things, you timed that caramel _perfectly_. But, as they say, the proof's in the pudding. Go on, tuck in."

"Try _it_ , try _it,_ try _it_ , try _it_!" chanted the kids in unison. Floss picked up the fork, cut off a chunk of their millionaire's shortbread, readied herself, and stuffed it in.

It was sweet, crunchy, rich, creamy. It was teamwork, perseverance and hard work. It was everything Floss expected it to be, and more.

It was _delicious_.

* * *

Mike chuckled to himself as he jogged up the stairs. So, Floss was a secret masterchef – who'd have thought it? These kids never stopped surprising him. Speaking of which…

He knocked three times on the door, but got no reply. Anxiously, he opened the door and burst in. Demon was sat on his bed, clad head-to-toe in black and with his black locks tied into a man-bun, clearly engrossed in something he was reading. Actually – what _was_ he reading? As Mike neared, he realised with mild horror that it was a small assortment of the Young People's files. Yellow for history, blue for monitoring, all of them _private_. Or at least they were _supposed_ to be.

"What do you think you're _doing_?!" he spluttered.

"Hi Mike," said Demon, not taking his eyes off the page he was reading.

"You know the rules. That kind of thing is _not_ for you to see – the files are _private_!"

"So's my stuff. So's my _life_! But they were happily about to root through it earlier, when they thought I was asleep! How's that fair?"

"They were just curious; probably, they just wanted to know a little bit about you before they met you – I hear Tyler hadn't exactly given you the most encouraging biography. I'm sure they didn't mean anything bad by it."

"How am I meant to have a new start if they're not gonna respect the ground rules, though?"

"Forgive me for saying it," Mike said, crossing to the bed and sitting on the end of it, "but you're not exactly respecting the ground rules yourself. Come on, hand them over."

Demon handed the files over without a fuss; Mike noted that most of them were Ryan's. "We didn't really get a chance to talk last night. Sorry about that, by the way."

"Hey, you can't help it. But yeah, this is our first proper meeting again. How've you been?"

"I didn't like Burnywood. Why didn't _you_ take me in?"

"Demon, I would have _happily_ taken you in, you know I would, but when you got out of the secure home, we were moving. Everything was up in the air, everyone was coming and going… I don't even know if the secure home contacted me, but if they _did_ , then I would have been too busy sorting out the move. Please trust me on this."

"Where's May-Li?" Demon said. Mike smiled to himself; when Demon changed the subject like that, it usually meant he was satisfied with the answer. "I haven't seen her today."

"You haven't really seen _anyone_ , today," Mike chuckled. "We need to get you to properly meet everyone. I'd appreciate it if you came for breakfast tomorrow – even if you don't want to eat anything, it'd be nice to meet the others."

"So May-Li is…?"

"Not here, I'm afraid. Moved on. She's doing amazing things in another care home. In fact, I really need to talk to you about that…"

"What?"

Mike sighed. There was no way of dressing this up; he was just going to have to say it. "May-Li's replacements are Carmen and Elektra."

Demon's eyes popped out of his skull. " _No_! No, that's not- you've made a mistake there."

"They joined in June. I know it's going to be a little awkward at first-"

"- _You're telling me_. Bloody hell. And how exactly do you expect me to go from stealing Carmen's cornflakes to doing the laundry for her?"

"Whilst we're on the subject of stealing food, I hope you realise that you'll be paying for the cost of those ingredients out of your allowance. And if you play any more stunts like that, I _won't_ be happy."

"Yeah, yeah. Try anything and I'll set Roxy on you," smirked Demon. "Can I meet Elektra?"

"She's gone home. Demon, for once in your life, _listen_ to me. After all the trouble you've put me in over the years, you've got some nerve. Do you have any _idea_ how difficult it was to get you out of Burnywood and into Waterland House? You _wanted_ to come here, and now you've got your wish, you need to learn to take the rough with the smooth. If the kids are being a bit nosy – _let_ them be! They're kids! You don't get a life of luxury and you're _not_ above the rest of them. Tomorrow, you're meeting them all properly, and you're going to pull your weight around here and be a proper member of the Waterland House community, okay?"

Demon remained silent.

" _OKAY_?"

Demon nodded reluctantly. "Thanks for having me. I really missed you."

Mike smiled and stood up, moving to the door. "Demon?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're back," Mike confessed. "There weren't _nearly_ enough challenges around here already…"

* * *

 **For those who have concerns about Elektra and Ryan's relationship (which are perfectly valid - I'd find it worrying!), may I refer you to the reviews section, where I have responded to a reader with similar worries.**

 **THIS IS SUCH A LONG CHAPTER! (Sorry/you're welcome).**

 **Behind-the-scenes: for me personally, this was such a fun one to write. Yes, Demon is back! He was the focus of my first two Dumping Ground fanfics and appeared in the other two. Whilst he _may_ have died in the final chapter of my last fic, remember what I said a few chapters ago about creative licence and retconning: in essence, in this story I'm trying to tell the best stories I can with the characters I want to use. I _adore_ writing scenes for Demon (him, Elektra and Mike are my favourites to write for), so I knew from the beginning that he was going to have to return. As you can tell, within this story's continuity he's spent some time in a secure home, followed by a Burnywood stint. As for why, you'll discover that later on...**

 **Other little behind-the-scenes bits: Demon's return was part of the reason why I haven't included the character of Alex in this story - I feel like they're just too similar. Yes, Ryan's and Demon's characters are similar in parts, although I can't wait to explore their dynamic as we go through the rest of the episodes. There is very little reason why Demon's social worker is _The Story of Tracy Beaker_ 's Roxy Wellard, and I was heavily debating whether or not to go with it or just have a random social worker instead, but I thought 'why not' and went for it - because why not?! This episode was entitled 'Goetia' until the very last minute, when I realised that 'A Demon at Waterland House' would nicely parallel the title of my first Dumping Ground story, _A Demon at Elm Tree_** _ **House**. _**(** **Incidentally,** **'Goetia' is a Greek word pertaining to rituals which summon (here's the clever bit)... demons). I wrote this chapter from 27 December 2018-12 January 2019.**

 **Research for this story included looking up millionaire's shortbread recipes, Nigella Lawson videos (not that Valentina Lovejoy is a blatant parody...), various ailments and maladies, and youth offender institutes. This was the first episode where I wrote scenes to specific music, to try to create the right mood. For your information, my eclectic mix included the romantic 'Madame de Pompadour' from the _Doctor Who_ soundtrack (Ryan and Elektra's scenes), the bright and breezy 'Neapolitan Girl' by The Divine Comedy (Valentina's entrance), some mournful tracks from Tori Amos' _Scarlet's Walk_ album (Floss and Valentina's penultimate scene), the bold and brassy 'The Scare Floor' from the _Monsters Inc_ soundtrack (the millionaire's shortbread scene) and, for Demon, a selection of 60s and 70s rock - 'Jumpin Jack Flash', 'Nutbush City Limits', 'Immigrant Song' and 'Born To Be Wild'.**

 **Right, I've talked for far too long, so here's your preview for next week:  
** Ryan begins to ask himself whether a romantic involvement with Elektra is really what he wants. His shiftiness provokes Elektra's paranoia and sparks a catastrophic chain reaction. Elsewhere at Waterland House, the reopening of old wounds threatens the success of the Dumping Ground's special fundraiser - will the kids prevail, and win vouchers for the best toy shop in town? Capitalising on the lively atmosphere of the day, Joseph makes a special announcement, and the Young People become intrigued by a mysterious trail of coins that keeps appearing in the house.  
 **Episode 8, "Don't Shop 'Til You Get Enough", is coming next Friday (8 March).**


	8. Don't Shop 'Til You Get Enough

"Give us a kiss, then," pleaded Ryan, leaning forwards and supporting his body on his motorbike. The dusty environs of the Waterland House garage had become their lovers' hideaway, the point of countless secret rendezvous since they had very naturally and very accidentally fallen in love.

Elektra acceded – she leaned forward and succumbed to what Ryan wanted. A languorous, blissful kiss that sent them both shooting off into the realm of happiness.

"You're so good for me," she quietly confessed.

Ryan grabbed the remote control for the garage door and pressed the button to open it. "And you me."

"Just remember, Ryan – it's probably best to keep this quiet."

"Suppose so," Ryan agreed, reluctantly.

In sync, they put their helmets on, mounted their bikes, revved up and rode out.

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
Chapter 8: "Don't Shop 'Til You Get Enough"**

* * *

They had been riding for about twenty minutes, and Ryan was recognising fewer and fewer of his surroundings. Elektra was in front, her brown and blue hair flowing free in the wind from where it emerged from the helmet. To him, she was the eighth wonder of the world. But she was _definitely_ leading him somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere off the beaten track.

As Ryan blindly followed, the council terraces they passed turning into open fields, the parked cars thinning out until there were barely any at all, he let Elektra's warning wash over him. At least, to _him_ it had sounded like a warning. 'It's probably best to keep this quiet'.

He was her secret. In some ways, he quite liked that: this relationship was theirs and theirs only; a release from the incessant howling world out there, and nobody was allowed to butt in.

But at the same time – there was a subtext there. Wasn't there? An undercurrent of 'I don't want people to know that _I_ am with _you_ '. There must be some reason why this was all a big secret, surely. Was it _him_? He wasn't… _embarrassing_ , was he? Was it that he was a kid and she was an adult? As far as he could understand, it was perfectly legal – after all, he was seventeen now, not a baby anymore.

Was this relationship definitely what he wanted?

Once he'd got that malignant, lurking thought into his head, he couldn't quite shake it away.

Elektra brought an end to his musings; her bright-red brake light shone in his eyes as she drew to a stop. Ryan followed suit and they rested their bikes on kick stands before taking off their helmets.

"The park. Nice," said Ryan, gazing around at his surroundings. They were on one of the park's many serpentine paths, just where it elegantly skirted around a gargantuan boulder face. To their left, a glistening lake shone beautifully at them, separated from them only by an inviting patch of forest-green grass, and above their heads were the diaphanous branches of a mighty, delicate willow. "In fact… _perfect_."

Elektra smiled. "Only two things could make this more perfect. And I've got the first one sorted." She crossed to the back of her motorbike, lifted the lid of the rear luggage box and startled Ryan by producing a picnic blanket. After laying it out on the grass, she dived into the box again, and came back with several containers full to bursting with food.

"This is _amazing_ ," smiled Ryan, sitting down opposite Elektra on the blanket, soaking up the sultry sun and luxuriating in the sheer beauty of his surroundings – the effulgent lake, the gorgeous willow, his gorgeous company. "But what's the second thing?"

"Come here and I'll show you," Elektra said flirtatiously, her eyes and lips practically begging Ryan to kiss her. He duly complied.

* * *

"AAAAHHH!" cried Jay.

Carmen and several of the kids came running to the entrance hall, expecting to find Jay clutching a broken leg or nursing a bump on the head. He was nursing a broken Nintendo.

"NOOOO! IT'S _BROKEN_!" he cried. " _Look_!" The two parts of the DS had split in the middle, leaving Jay with a completely inoperable games console. Some of the kids sniggered a little. "It's. Not. FUNNY!" yelled Jay, brandishing the broken DS. "What am I meant to do all day now?!"

"Oh, I don't know, spend some _time_ with us?" suggested Carmen sarcastically, completely bewildered by the younger kids' reliance on technology at the expense of social interaction. She was sure that _she'd_ managed to balance the two when she was at the Dumping Ground the first time around. "Enjoy our company? Play a board game?"

"Um, _no_!" said Jay.

"You don't need technology to have a fun time," maintained Carmen.

"Uh, yeah we do," argued Chloe. "Remember the last time you, Mike and Elektra banned all technology for the day? It was _horrific_. While we're on the subject, can I talk to you about renewing my phone contract?"

"Yeah, and I'd really appreciate that bumper kit of science experiments that we saw in town," chimed Joseph. ("It was fifty pounds!" Carmen retorted in disbelief.)

"And I want a catapult!" enthused Floss. ("It's dangerous!") ("A slingshot, then.") (" _What_?!")

"And how are we supposed to play a board game when they're _all_ missing pieces?" asked Rafiq.

The front door was wrenched open. Aisha burst through and slammed it shut again. " _WHO_ ," she roared, " _popped_ my _BASKETBALL_?!"

Carmen shrank back in fear. " _Okay_!"

Everyone quietened down and turned to listen to Carmen.

"I get it," she said. "I get it. You need new toys and games and… technology, and… _stuff_. So, have you guys got the money for it?" All the kids were silent. "Because _we_ certainly don't." You could cut the tension with a knife.

Carmen crossed to the onyx coffee table positioned in front of a plush sofa in the entrance hall. She picked up a flier off it and presented it to the kids. "It's lucky that _this_ came in the post this morning, then, isn't it?"

"The Toyworld Annual Charity Competition," read Floss. "How's that going to help? What is it?"

"Toyworld!" smiled Jay. "The best toy shop in town!"

"It's a charity competition for under-16-year-olds," Carmen explained. "You get together as a team and have to raise as much money as possible in one day. The money goes to charity, but the winning team gets £300 of Toyworld vouchers. If you ask me, that sounds pretty good."

"That sounds great!" smiled Jay.

"Yeah, pretty cool," added Chloe.

"There are bonus vouchers for the team with the most unique way of fundraising, and if there's anyone in Pottiswood who can come up with something _unique_ , it's you guys. What do we think?"

"I'm in!" cried Joseph.

"Me too," said Floss. A flurry of voices all chimed in with 'me too'.

"I've got an idea!" announced Rafiq. All eyes locked onto his. "What if… we have a 'backwards day'?"

"What on earth's that?" asked Carmen curiously.

"It's like the whole day in reverse. We do everything we'd normally do, but in reverse order. It'll be like a challenge, to see if we can manage to do the whole day perfectly in the wrong order."

Joseph smiled. "I like it. Let's do it!"

"Well, wait a second, Joseph – does everyone else want to do it?" The kids all nodded. "I've got to admit, it sounds like it'll definitely challenge you. But if you want to give it a go, then I'll see what I can sort out with the Toyworld team."

"This like speak to have we do?" asked Chloe, speaking backwards.

"Only if you really want to," laughed Rafiq.

"Backwards Day – what a great idea," Carmen smiled. "And hopefully it'll raise lots of money from sponsors. _If_ you manage to pull it off."

The kids looked nervously at each other – it was going to be a big challenge, and no mistake…

* * *

They must have been there for years, enjoying their picnic and each other's company. To both of them, it felt like time had just _stopped_. It had stopped and reserved a little pocket of perfect bliss for them. They revelled in each other's presence. They drank in each other's appearance, and luxuriated in the unbridled _joy_ of their tryst.

Just one thing was nagging Ryan.

"Elektra," he said, sitting up, "why it's such a big secret? You and me?"

She sat up as well. "You're asking that _now_? Just enjoy what we've got, Ryan."

"But I don't know if I _can_ enjoy what we've got, when I don't even _know_ what we've got."

Elektra looked taken aback. "What do you-"

"No, I'm sorry, Elektra, but how the _hell_ am I supposed to know where we stand? You're saying you love me, and we're having a nice time, but then you say nobody's allowed to know. _Why not_?"

"Where's this come from? Ryan, I love you! You know that! …It's nothing to do with you, it's-"

"It's _what_?" Ryan stood up now, pulled his leather jacket on. It was starting to grow chilly. "Elektra, love is love. If you're ashamed to be with me, just say it."

"I'm just… I'm not sure how the others will take it."

"There we go."

"Ryan, _think_ about it-"

"-What, 'Elektra and Ryan? Of _course_ the mean ones would get together'? Is that what you're worried they'll say?" Ryan pulled his helmet on.

"Ryan, you _know_ it's not that. You're a Young Person and I'm one of your carers!"

But she was shouting into the void. Ryan had climbed onto his bike and powered away.

* * *

8am, and there was already a queue for the shower. A very tired-looking, unenthused, yawning queue. Backwards Day had arrived, and that meant the evening-showerers were 'enjoying' morning showers, and being reminded of precisely why they didn't want to be woken up by a 'refreshing' morning shower.

Once they'd all got showered and dressed, all in various stages of grumpiness whilst the morning-showerers were complaining about how unhygienic they felt, they made their way down to the kitchen, taking care to avoid the stools at the breakfast bar – breakfast wasn't for another nine hours or so. A weary-looking 30-something in a blue polo shirt explained that her name was Lucy and that she was a member of Toyworld's staff, here for the day to make sure the day was running exactly how it should.

After they'd all sat down, Mike proudly produced a piping-hot dish from the oven and set it down in the middle of the table.

"Dinner is served!" he cried dramatically. "The finest shepherd's pie this side of… well, actually, maybe the finest shepherd's pie _anywhere_!"

Eagerly, Aisha, Jay, Rafiq, Floss, Joseph and Chloe served themselves bulging platefuls of scrumptious shepherd's pie.

"Weird is this," remarked Jay.

"Cause good a for all it's!" argued Floss.

" _Us_ for!"

"Yeah. Best our try let's so."

"Guys, you really don't have to talk like that," interjected Lucy. "I've spoken to my team, and we're fine with you talking normally. We want you to still have _fun_ today!"

"Challenge fun a it's but!" protested Aisha.

"Okay, maybe we can do some normal talking and some backwards talking, how does that sound?"

"Okay."

At that moment, the older kids burst in, looking more than a little befuddled by the presence of an enormous shepherd's pie and a stranger in the kitchen. As they hopped onto the breakfast bar stools, Mike explained.

"Guys, this is Lucy Wilmshurst from the local Toyworld. She's here to adjudicate today's Backwards Day fundraiser that the younger ones are holding. It'd be great if you could spread the word on social media, drum up a bit of funding."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, charity fundraiser, toy shop, Lucy Wilmshurst, yadda, yadda, yadda," said Sasha disinterestedly, swivelling round on her barstool. "Pass the shepherd's pie, Mike?"

"Uh, _no_."

" _Pleeeaaase_!" whined Jody.

"Yeah, _please_ Mike, I'm starving," Bird said.

"Guys, you can beg all you like," smiled Mike smugly. "But _you_ aren't part of Backwards Day, so _you_ are on cereal, just like normal." He grinned in a self-satisfied way; the kids groaned and opened the cereal cupboard.

* * *

Shepherd's pie devoured, the kids made their way into the lounge to watch TV – like they usually did in the evening. What they found in the lounge was surprising to say the least.

It was a trail of coins, composed of about fifteen or twenty glimmering pound coins snaking around the furniture, each one a regular distance from the last. They shone like golden treasure.

"Whoa, look! Money!" exclaimed Jay excitedly.

"But where did it come from?" wondered Joseph.

"Who cares? Let's put it in the fundraising bucket."

"But someone might want it back," reasoned Chloe.

" _Excellent_ reasoning, Chloe," said Carmen as she came into the lounge and noticed the children standing next to the trail of coins. "Let's _provisionally_ put it in the fundraising bucket – and only _after_ you've asked everybody whether they've lost any money recently, yeah?"

"Where did it _come_ from though?" Joseph pondered again.

"It's a mystery," remarked Chloe. "Maybe we can work it out."

* * *

Meanwhile, the older residents of Waterland House were huddled around the office computer, inspecting the others' fundraising page. It seemed like Backwards Day was a hit; the donations were skyrocketing.

"It just keeps going up!" remarked Bird in disbelief as the figure climbed into three figures.

"It's such a stupid idea," laughed Tyler. "They're _never_ gonna be able to manage it. Not a whole day!"

"I really _wanted_ that shepherd's pie," said Sasha angrily, clenching her fist like she was playing Richard III. "And those _flippin'_ young ones…"

"Why do Mike, Carmen and Elektra always _spoil_ them? Why do _we_ never get anything?" asked Jody. Her question was met with silence.

"You know what they say, though," reasoned Tyler after a pause. "If you want something, you'll go to any lengths to get it."

" _I_ want shepherd's pie," Sasha said wistfully.

"But how do we make the careworkers spoil _us_ instead?" Bird queried. "We can't exactly just go up and ask for attention."

"We've got to get creative," suggested Tyler. "Any ideas?"

"I've got a few," offered Demon.

* * *

"Oh, hi Joseph," said Jody half an hour later as she entered the lounge, pretending she hadn't spied the boy going in there from outside. "How's Backwards Day going?"

"You thank, okay."

"Lose the funny talking, maybe? _I'm_ not part of your fundraiser, I shouldn't have to go to the trouble of working out what you're saying."

"Okay, thank you," repeated Joseph.

"What are you up to now?"

Joseph shrugged nonchalantly.

"Okay… so if it's the middle of the morning now, what do you normally like to do in the middle of the _evening_?"

Joseph thought for a moment, putting a finger to his lips in contemplation. "Stargazing's always nice."

"Okay, so why don't you do that?" Jody suggested encouragingly.

Joseph looked around the room, confused, noting the daylight streaming through the open windows. "… But it's light. There won't be any stars to see."

Jody pretended to look shocked. " _Joseph_! I've helped you work out _exactly_ what you should be doing at this time of the day, and you're trying to go against me. _Surely_ you don't want to ruin Backwards Day, do you?"

"N-no." He vehemently shook his head.

"Off you pop, then. Stargazing time. I'm sure you'll surprise yourself with what you can see."

More than a little confused, Joseph left the room and headed for the garden. He had an immensely fruitless hour of solitary stargazing to do.

* * *

"You with wrong what's?" asked Chloe, coming up to Ryan in the living room later that morning. She couldn't escape the feeling that something was wrong. When it came to Ryan, she just _knew_ – and what she knew now, was that something had made him unsettled. She expected that he'd pretend nothing was wrong – and wasn't disappointed.

"Nothing's wrong with me," he barked. Far too terse, far too abrupt for Chloe to be convinced by it. Whatever had knocked him away from his earlier transitory happiness, she was going to find out. For better or for worse.

* * *

" _Again_?!" exclaimed Rafiq in disbelief, gazing down at the coins. They were back – a shiny, lucrative trail of silvers and golds making its serpentine way around the lounge.

"I don't mean to be funny, but has someone got a _hole_ in their pocket?" laughed Carmen, noticing what the kids were staring at.

"Ah, _result_!" cried Jay, merrily scooping up the coins and putting them in the fundraiser collection bucket.

"I can't believe it's happened again. It _can't_ be a coincidence," Chloe opined. "I'd say somebody's doing this deliberately."

"Why would anyone make themselves poorer, deliberately?" asked Aisha, like Chloe was stupid.

"I don't know. But maybe we can find out," said Chloe, a flash of inspiration illuminating her eyes.

"And _how_ do we do that?"

"Let's use our phone cameras, set them up around the lounge. And we can catch them in the act."

"Sounds like a plan," smiled Carmen.

* * *

Joseph had always been a stargazer. Ever since his dad had taken him up onto Needham Hill on Friday nights after he'd come home from work, back when Joseph was little. They'd shared a soup, a sandwich and a telescope, and watched sprawling constellations unfold their majesty to them. Stargazing required immense patience, but was rewarded with an insight into the universe at its most raw yet ostentatiously beautiful. Of _course_ he was fascinated by the stars – how was it possible _not_ to be?

But there were no stars today, at eleven in the morning. And despite that, Joseph lay on the dry grass, gazing vacantly up. Because Jody had told him to, and he didn't want to disappoint Jody, or let down the others, or let down himself.

The lonely sky left him the prey of his thoughts, and today, they were toying with him. _It's time! It's time! Seize the opportunity!_

For a few months now, an irrepressible, crushing, black guilt had overcome Joseph. It was like a poison, seeping into every one of his cells until it was an intrinsic part of him. Leaving every cell screaming with shame. Symbiotic, too – Joseph fed the guilt and the guilt powered Joseph.

This had to end. Joseph had, as far as his logical mind interpreted the problem, two options for absolving himself of this insidious attacker: he could deal with the root cause, hack it away like an axe to the trunk – or he could share the guilt, spread it amongst his friends, make himself feel better. But what right did he have to inflict the burden on them? It would change them. Today was the perfect opportunity – but did he have the right to be their architect in that way?

"Um, excuse me young lady, what is he actually _doing_?" asked Lucy, the adjudicator, to Jody. They were stood at the other end of the garden, unseen and unheard by Joseph, whom they were studying like a museum exhibit.

"Do you know," said Jody, trying to contain her mischief, "I think he's sleeping!"

"Sleeping?"

"Yeah, I think he's had a few late nights lately. He's always like that, our Joseph, looking at his… _books_ and stuff. I wouldn't wake him, just to be on the safe side."

Lucy looked back at the boy, who lay unmoving on the grass. He did _look_ asleep. "But surely sleeping in the morning like this is against the rules! Unless he normally has an afternoon nap…?"

"No, he never naps," remarked Jody, again trying to mask her glee at sabotaging the fundraiser like this. "Actually, now you mention it, it _is_ against the rules, isn't it? That's a shame."

Lucy frowned, made a note on her clipboard, and walked off.

* * *

Aisha carefully squeezed a ring of superglue around the top of a silver-painted cardboard turret, dutifully placed a folded conical roof (made of pastel pink card) in position, and pressed it into the glue to secure it.

That's when Demon came in. He'd settled in surprisingly well in the week or so he'd been a Waterland House resident, mostly staying out of the way of whole-group gatherings but forming his own close circle of friends. To date, there hadn't been any seriously egregious pranks, schemes or escape attempts of the kind that Tyler had prophesied – although there _were_ some rumours going around that he'd been the one who'd dumped the cake ingredients on the lawn when Valentina off the telly was visiting.

Like a silhouette (all in black from black-bobble topknot to jet-black socks, and virtually invisible side-on), he swept into the room and sat on the carpet opposite Aisha, separated only by what would surely be the best school project her teacher had ever seen.

"Hi," he smiled – his smiles lit up his eyes with a jackal-like greed, even faked ones, but Aisha didn't recognise things like that yet. "Is it a castle?"

"Yes, it's for school," Aisha replied politely, pushing a few strands of her black bob out of her eye so she could see where her pencil was marking out where the drawbridge would fall.

"How are you settling in? At school, I mean."

"Um… okay, I think… I've got lots of friends."

"That's good," he smiled, another jackal smile. "We wouldn't you to be all lonely, would we? What are you now, Year 3?"

Aisha nodded. "It's more difficult than Year 2."

"Well, of course it is – there's no point in it getting easier and easier, or you'd never _learn_ anything! Which brings me onto… _this_ thing."

"My castle?"

"Yeah. Why are you building it _now_? It's Backwards Day! Shouldn't you be joining in with the… fun?"

"I have to make it before tomorrow. It's really important to get it finished."

"More important than Backwards Day? No, I don't think so." Aisha looked taken aback. "But guess what's confusing me the most," Demon continued, leaning in like he was about to impart some secret wisdom; Aisha leant it as well, compelled by his captivating presence.

And then the fatal whispered words came: "If today is Backwards Day, _why are you still building it_?"

Aisha immediately knew what he meant. Her eyes widened in visible surprise, and she shook her head a little, in the feeblest of protests.

Demon smirked. "I mean it. Get in the spirit of Backwards Day. Break it up. Rip it apart. Piece by piece. On a normal day, you build the castle, right? But today _isn't_ a normal day – it's Backwards Day, so you have to _un_ -build it. Do you _want_ to spoil the day? Everyone _else_ is sticking to the rules."

Aisha's heart and head fought a quick battle. The heart appealed to her pride – she'd spent days and days building that castle, getting help from Carmen and some of the others, desperately wanting to hand in the best project. And she'd had so much fun! She couldn't just discard _that_ , as well. But the head's argument – much more succinct, much more persuasive – won out: she was _terrified_ of Demon.

She reached up to the newly-installed turret and its distinctive conical roof, and divorced them from each other. She placed the two parts on the floor, away from the rest of the castle; Demon picked up the roof, and crushed it in his hand.

* * *

The clock chimed two – the pre-agreed time.

"Come on, guys!" called Chloe. She and several of the others frantically made their way to the lounge. They scoured the carpet with their greedy eyes, but there was decidedly no trail of coins this time.

"Maybe whoever it was gave up," suggested Jay. "When they realised we were onto them."

"Yeah, or maybe it _was_ an accident, like Carmen said," reasoned Rafiq.

"GUUUYYYYSSSSSS!" screamed somebody upstairs. The Young People quickly ascended the stairs and found Floss, who was stood at the end of the upstairs corridor (thankfully not shouting anymore), pointing with a quivering finger at the carpet.

"Another one!" cried Rafiq. They were all staring at another trail of coins, leading all the way along the upstairs corridor in an organised procession of sparkling silvers and dusty bronze.

"Did anyone see it being left here?" asked Joseph. "Floss?"

"Nope," she reported glumly. "Just found it now."

"So nobody's phone picked it up," Jay surmised. "They're all in the lounge."

"I guess we still don't know who our mysterious money friend is, then," said Joseph disappointedly.

They looked back at the coins, which now almost seemed to be taunting them.

* * *

Jay set off on his mid-morning jog… that afternoon. In the spirit of Backwards Day, he was jogging backwards, cautiously yet still clumsily, looking over his shoulder with every awkward step. He had got a hundred or so metres away from Waterland House, and was starting to wonder what the point was in all of this, when he saw Bird jogging towards him. Jay couldn't help feeling a bit stupid for jogging backwards, seeing as Bird was having no problem at all jogging the right way round.

Bird caught up. "Oh come on, bro. What's the point?" he laughed.

"Bird, I am _doing_ Backwards Day, and I'm doing it _properly_."

"Look at you, man! You're jogging backwards, at the wrong time of day. Your body's not used to running at this time, you look stupid… and I bet you _feel_ stupid too."

"No! Bird, you're starting to annoy me," he said, still jogging backwards.

"Yeah, and maybe yous are annoying me, doing everything backwards. Let's be honest," he said as they rounded a corner onto a narrow country lane. "There's _bound_ to be other teams out there that have raised loads more than you lot. What's the point? Why bother?"

"Look," said Jay angrily. He stopped to remonstrate with his brother. "If you're going to be negative about it, can you just stay out of our way? We're determined to get to that toy shop – or, at least, we'll try our best. And you're not gonna stop us. So get out of my way."

Realising his attempt had been futile, Bird dejectedly slugged back to Waterland House, whilst Jay carried on with his bizarre jog.

* * *

Rafiq reached the top of the stairs and turned onto the corridor. Where were all of his friends? It was 4pm – time for their morning exercises (Floss was apparently laying on a Zumba class).

"Psst!" came a sharp voice from somewhere below him. He looked down and found Floss's head at ground level, poking out from her bedroom. As Rafiq looked along the corridor, he noticed Jay, Aisha and Joseph all in similar positions, poking out of their own rooms.

Rafiq quickly scampered into Floss's room and lay on his tummy next to her.

"What are we doing?" he whispered.

"Finding the coin fairy," Floss reported, in an equally hushed voice.

"Coin fairy?"

"That's what your baby sister called it. The name kind of stuck."

They waited like this for twenty minutes or so – but eventually they struck gold. Or, to be exact, silver and gold.

Carmen came onto the corridor, looking furtively around – merely searching for the children, or was she trying to keep her activities secret? The kids' questions were quickly answered, when they saw her stoop to the ground and drop a pound coin on the soft blue carpet. Then, about fifteen centimetres along, another. Then another. And another, and another, and—

"You're busted!" screeched Floss, running out of her room. Carmen wheeled around to face her.

"Caught in the act," smirked Joseph, as he also emerged.

Carmen made a show of putting her head in her hands. "Well done, guys. You caught me… and I would have gotten away with it, if it weren't for you meddling kids! … Do you guys understand that reference?"

The kids solemnly shook their heads in unison.

"But why did you do it?" asked Joseph.

"It really _is_ for your benefit," Carmen confessed. "And not just so you can put it in the bucket."

"Go on…"

"Well, everything's going really well, and you guys look like you're having lots of fun. _But_ me and Mike think it's important that you don't… _lose sight_ of what the day's really about. You're trying to win these vouchers or whatever, but it's also for _charity_. We want you to remember that."

"So how do the coins help?" asked Floss loudly.

"So, the idea was that you'd just find them lying around throughout the day. And then by the end of the day, there'd be – I don't know – thirty pounds in the bucket, something like that? What do you think we were trying to make you realise?"

"If we could start with nothing and end up with thirty pounds, without really _doing_ anything…" reasoned Rafiq. "then... you're trying to say it's easy to find money?"

"Clever boy," smiled Carmen. She paced along the corridor, addressing all of the kids. "Today's about charity. You found thirty pounds lying around – now would you believe me if I said that that thirty pounds is made up of loose change I've found in this house?"

The kids shook their heads in disbelief.

"All the money I've put on the floor today I've _found_ in the last three months. In the lounge, under sofas, shoved behind the microwave, _everywhere_."

"So if that money's been lying around for ages, why haven't we noticed it's gone?" asked Joseph.

" _Exactly_!" beamed Carmen, launching into teacher mode. "You didn't even _know_ that you didn't have this money. Now, _I'd_ say that means it's not essential to you – but there are people who _need_ spare change like that. So why not give it to charity?

"Soooo, starting from today, I'm setting up a charity box. It's going to be on my desk, and whenever you've got a bit of spare change, if you want to give it to charity, you can."

"What charity?" asked Jay.

"We can decide that together," smiled Carmen. "What do we think, everyone?"

"I promise I'll put money in the charity box from now on," said Aisha.

"A little goes a long way," Floss ruminated. "I like that idea."

* * *

"Come on then," Elektra said resignedly, stripped of her usual excitement and spirit, as she pulled her leather jacket on and mounted her bike.

"Look," started Ryan from the corner of the garage, refusing to climb onto his bike and ride out. "Elektra!" She turned her head.

" _What_? Let's just get out!" she protested.

"Elektra, I'm not going anywhere with you until we're okay again. I can't deal with us not being friends, at least. What's the point in falling out?"

"I'm sorry if I took things too far. Maybe I shouldn't have–"

"-Hey, don't worry about that. I don't wanna hear it. I just want us to be okay again. _Please_."

"If you're sure there's nothing you need to get off your chest, then… yes, we're okay."

"We're okay?" Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. He walked over to Elektra with the mischievous glint that she loved so much in his eye. "Prove it then."

Elektra knew what she meant; their lips met and sparks flew, electric, powerful, all-consuming. It was a kiss full of longing and desire, of apology and reconciliation. It was, unbeknownst to them at the time, the kiss that would ruin it all.

Hearing a barely-perceptible skitter from the corner of the garage, Elektra opened her eyes slightly, still kissing Ryan. That was when she saw Chloe, lurking just behind the barely-opened door into the garage. Elektra closed her eyes instantly, hoping that Chloe wouldn't realise she'd been seen.

They broke off the kiss. "Whoa," breathed Ryan. "Hello, you."

"Hey, just give me a minute, I forgot something in the staff room. Promise I'll be back in five minutes, okay?"

Elektra dismounted and strode into the house. She had to stop her.

* * *

Her questions, and Carmen's answers, had sent her in the direction of the garden. Chloe was sat there, arms folded, looking like a teacher who's caught a truant. No, worse than that – it wasn't a smirk on her face; it was _concern_. Worry, even. Elektra knew there was going to have to be a _lot_ of damage control.

" _What_ are you doing with my brother?" fired Chloe.

Elektra rushed forward and stood intimidatingly over the girl. " _Keep quiet_!" she hissed.

"Why should I? Why shouldn't I go in there now, and tell everyone I saw you kissing Ryan?"

" _Because_ if you shut up and come with me somewhere private, I'll _explain_!"

Chloe took a moment to turn the proposition over in her head. "… Fine."

"Is it okay if I wheel you?"

Chloe nodded, and Elektra pushed her slowly down the garden, before swerving to the left and skirting along the back fence, behind a row of dark tree-shaped hedges. At the end, they reached the ramp down into the wood store. Elektra nervously sprung down the steps and unlocked the door.

"Why are we going in there?" asked Chloe, sharing in Elektra's nerves. She started to turn around and head back, but Elektra rushed round and stood in front of her.

"Chloe, if I'm going to be as honest as you want me to be, this has to be as private as possible. Nobody else can here, okay?"

Again, Chloe paused, debated whether to go along with it. "Okay then."

Elektra took the handles of the wheelchair in her hands, gently pushed Chloe down the ramp and into the wood store – then she slammed the door shut, banged the bolt across and padlocked the lock.

* * *

The kids were all sitting round the dinner table that evening. The older kids were on Thai green curry, the younger ones devouring toast and cereal. For the most part, everyone was getting on, chatting about what they'd got up to that day, although there was a slight animosity between the Wallis brothers.

Still, it was as peaceful as it was going to be – Joseph knew it was the best possible time to share his news. It was the guilt pressing down on him that – if he was going to live with it – he might as well share with a (hopefully) understanding group of friends.

"Guys," said Joseph, from the head of the table. The others fell silent. "You tell to something have I." The kids looked slightly intrigued by the usually quite timid boy speaking up. "While a for me worried that's something it's."

"Okay… go on…" said Carmen.

"It understand to try please."

"Promise," Tyler said.

Joseph took a deep breath. The words couldn't come! But they _had_ to… he _had_ to share the guilt. He took another deep breath, cleared his throat, and said the words that he knew to be the right ones:

"…Gay am I."

There was a brief silence whilst the group processed what he was saying. Then, spontaneously, the kids broke out into a chorus of replies: Sasha simply went "Okay then" and turned back to her curry; Rafiq smiled "I'm happy for you"; Carmen promised "We'll support you no matter what. I'm glad you got it off your chest"; Demon said "That's cool".

Maybe it wasn't something to feel guilty about, after all.

At that moment, Lucy the adjudicator came strolling in.

"Hi, Lucy," Mike said. "Do you want to stay for some curry with the kids?"

"Thanks, but I've got to be off," she replied. " _However_ , I have some unfortunate news to share with you all. As you know, I'm really impressed with the effort you guys've put in to make your fundraiser a success. _But_ … having observed you all day, I'm sorry to have to say that you're going to have to be disqualified. This morning, I saw this boy here-" she indicated Joseph, "-taking a nap on the grass. Since I've been informed that he doesn't normally have an afternoon nap, that's a strike against the rules of your Backwards Day. Unfortunately, you are out of the running for the prize."

"Oh, Joseph!" hissed Jay. "Why'd you have to ruin it like that?"

"Yeah, it was going so well!" Aisha added peevishly.

"I wasn't sleeping!" Joseph asserted. "I was stargazing!"

"Oh _come on_ ," responded Lucy. "Even within the rules of Backwards Day, you and I both know there's no point in stargazing in the morning. There aren't even any stars then! No, I have to stick to–"

"I _was_ stargazing! _Jody_ told me to!"

All eyes were fixed on Jody.

" _Did_ she, indeed?" Mike said, flashing a suspicious glare at Jody.

"It was Demon's idea!" Jody roared, and all the eyes turned to Demon, like they were following a tennis ball during a game.

" _Right_. Jody, Demon, Sasha, Bird, Tyler – _with me. Now!_ Lucy, I'd appreciate it if you stayed here for a moment."

Lucy nodded.

Elektra came in through the back door, evidently with something on her mind. She clutched her bike helmet and still had her leather jacket on from the bike ride she and Ryan had just returned from. Carmen caught her.

"Have you seen Chloe anywhere?" she asked.

"Uh, _yeah_ ," panicked Elektra. "Yeah, she, uh, said she wasn't hungry. Needed a lie down… I'll just go and check on her now, yeah?"

* * *

Elektra stumbled across the lobby and clumsily raced up the stairs, her steps frantic and her mind panicking. _What have you done how could you do that to her she didn't deserve that but she was spying on you and she saw things she really shouldn't have seen and surely that's justification enough and how else am I going to keep this secret but then again she can't stay in there forever can she?_

She rounded the corner and staggered along the hideously blue corridor. _But the damage is done you've hurt Chloe and worst of all you've hurt Ryan how could you do that to them Elektra he's a KID at the end of the day although you might not like to think it and that's not appropriate and Chloe too she's locked up in a cellar because of your stupid paranoia she wouldn't tell anybody anyway would she?_

She yanked the door handle of the staff room and spilled in, collapsing on the bed, now aware of tears streaming down her cheeks. _Elektra you've really fucked up here it's up to you to sort your mess out and stop everything from properly falling apart oh fuck fuck fuck why do you have to BE like this always taking things too far always getting into situations you know you shouldn't be in always missing where the boundary is always making things worse for everybody_

 _Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!_

* * *

"So this was all over… a shepherd's pie?" checked Mike in disbelief. He had taken Tyler, Jody, Demon, Bird and Sasha into the quiet room, and he was prepared to take no prisoners.

"It was a really _tasty_ _-looking_ shepherd's pie!" Sasha asserted angrily.

"Well thank you very much," said Mike in mock gratitude. "But _however_ good it was, it certainly wasn't worth all the trouble you've caused. I mean, nearly getting all the others disqualified from the fundraiser – how's that helping anyone?"

Tyler stepped forward and, a little nervously, reported, "It was more to make a point, really."

"Oh yeah? And what'point' would that be? … No, go on, I'm delighted to hear whatever you think is worth _sabotaging_ the others' fun, _denying_ them the chance to be rewarded for a hard day's work… almost _stopping_ a charity from getting donations? What could _possibly_ justify that?"

"…We… we just… _we_ want to be spoiled as well as the younger ones."

Mike looked a little shocked; he hadn't been expecting that one. "How do you mean?"

"You give them _everything_ ," Bird argued. "More privileges, more _attention_. The shepherd's pie was just the tip of the iceberg, really."

" _Although_ ," interjected Sasha, "it was a _very_ tasty-looking shepherd's pie!"

"Sometimes we just want you to take more of an interest in _us_ ," Jody summarised.

Mike didn't really know what to say. "Guys, I honestly didn't know you felt that way. I don't— how can I respond to _that_? I mean, _obviously_ the younger ones are bound to get more attention – they're younger, they need that – but if you think that it's at the expense of spending quality time with you guys, then… _yeah_ , of course I can make a bit more time for you. We _all_ can."

"We don't want you to push us on the swings in the park or do jigsaws with us all day or anything," clarified Demon. "Just maybe a bit more of a balance would be nice."

"Okay, yeah, I can take that on board," smiled Mike, relieved that they seemed to have provisionally sorted out the problem. " _On the condition_ that you go in there and tell Lucy what you've told me, about your sabotage. These kids really deserve their chance at those vouchers, after all the work they've put in."

"We're really sorry, Mike," Sasha said, sincerely. "We… _might_ have overreacted. Probably should have just talked to you about it in the first place."

"Yes, you should. _But_ … it's sorted now. So go in there, apologise to the others, talk to Lucy, and then there's a portion of shepherd's pie in the fridge if you want it."

Sasha broke into a smile so bright it might have been seen from space.

* * *

Elektra had taken five minutes out to calm down – now it was time to face up to her guilt. She dashed to the bottom of the garden, along the path, and fumbled with the key in the lock. After taking the deep breath that she prayed would sustain her through the conversation, exchanging carbon dioxide for pure strength, she slid the bolt across and entered the wood store.

Chloe was sat there, her bright yellow jumper dulled by the falling soot and dust, her form illuminated by the persistent artificial glow of a phone torch.

"You had your phone all this time," noticed Elektra, sitting on the floor opposite Chloe.

"Yes," said Chloe. "I did. And I could have asked for help at any time, or told everyone what you were up to, but I didn't."

"That's you all over, though! Isn't it?" Elektra remarked. "Missing the opportunities."

" _Elektra_!" howled Chloe, ignited by rage. "That's _not_ missing the opportunities – that's _understanding_ people! That's _empathy_!"

Elektra held up her hands to show surrender.

Chloe continued, "If I tell everyone what you did to me, you'll get sacked and I'll never find out why. Elektra, I just want to _understand_. I know why you put me in here, but I don't know exactly what you were doing with my brother. You owe me an explanation at the very least."

Elektra felt her face – there they were again, the unprompted, unexpected tears. "Me and Ryan are… we're… I… we have a _thing_ going on."

"A _thing_? That's the best you can give me?"

"No, it's just… I don't _know_ what we have! It's kisses every now and then – nothing more, I _promise_ – but I don't know if it's love or not. I mean, we _tell_ each other we love each other, but what does _that_ mean?"

Chloe looked taken aback. "You told him you _love_ him?"

"Chloe, I didn't–"

"Oh my god," whispered Chloe, choking back her own tears that she couldn't bear to let flow, because they would acknowledge that this was real. "You're the reason he's been so much happier lately. I thought that might have been _me_."

"Chloe…"

" _What_? _What_ have you got to say for yourself?"

"Chloe, I'm _so_ , _so sorry_. I've messed up massively, and I… I don't think I've ever _been_ more sorry for my actions. I've been stupid, I've been… _irresponsible_. I've let myself down."

" _Me, me, me_. What about _Ryan_?"

"He… Chloe, _please_ understand that I never harmed him. It was _never_ anything he didn't initiate, or anything he didn't agree with. I just… I wasn't thinking. We judged it wrong."

" _Yes_! You _did_! As if the three-year age difference wasn't _enough_ , he's a _kid_! He's in your care – you're supposed to take _care_ of him! You're supposed to _protect_ him, not _love_ him – not like _that_! It's _abuse_!" Tears were streaming down Chloe's reddening cheeks. Her anger subsided a little as she saw the effect of it on the sobbing careworker in front of her. "Elektra, I know you probably didn't think you were doing any harm. But you _were_ – I hope you can see that. Just stay away from us for a little while, please. Give us the time we need to get better from this."

"Thank you so much," Elektra cried. "Thank you for understanding. I promise I never meant any harm."

"We can talk another time, when it's all sunk in. Can you take me back to the house?"

Sniffling and wiping tears from her eyes, Elektra got up off the floor and pushed Chloe up the ramp.

The careworker turned to the girl. " _Please_ keep this quiet. For now, at least, until we've decided what to do."

The girl turned to her careworker, mulling it over. "For _Ryan's_ sake… yes, I'll keep my mouth shut. _For now_."

Elektra silently thanked any deities up there in the endless sky.

"Elektra?" said Chloe. Elektra looked at the girl. "One more thing. I just want you to know that _you make me sick_."

She turned, wheeled away, left Elektra standing there in the half-light, appalled by herself.

* * *

 _How could I have done that? To poor Chloe? Oh god, she didn't deserve that. And poor Ryan! Chloe's right – he's a kid, I'm an adult, and he's in my care. How could I EVER have thought this would be okay? If it were a teacher, it'd be illegal. Hell, it probably IS illegal for ME! This ISN'T how a careworker should behave, and it's not how I should behave either. I'm gonna lose my job for this, I just know it. If this ever gets out… Fuck it, why am I caring about myself so much? I've HURT these kids. If I were in their position, I wouldn't want to see me ever again. Do I even deserve to work there anymore? I'll make my mind up in the morning. But I'm not hopeful._

These were the thoughts that Elektra had that night, lying on her thin holey mattress, just before she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! If you did, feel free to leave a review. This chapter was written from 12-19 January 2019. For those of you worried about the Elektra situation: don't worry, I'm not done with her yet. No research to talk about this week, so I'll leave you with a sneak peek at next week:  
** Tomorrow was meant to be the best day of Tyler's life - finally, he was going to move in with his mum! But a shocking revelation rocks Tyler to his core, and leaves him unsure how to react. After a similarly shocking piece of news, Mike also struggles to cope - and threatens the safety of the whole house in the process.  
 **Episode 9, "Coping", is coming next Friday (15 March). I promise it's a shorter one!**


	9. Coping

_**(TRIGGER WARNING: CUTTING)**_

"I wasn't even meant to stay here. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, just for a few months until they'd rebuilt my old care home. But I suppose Mike liked me enough to keep me here. And I liked it enough to stay.

"I've learned so much along the way. _So_ much has changed. When I came here, Carmen was setting fire to my stuff, and now she's my careworker. I've made so many friends, and had so many great times with you – _all_ of you.

"So, it's going to be really sad to leave. But I can't wait to spend more time with my mum, and it's not like you'll all stop being part of my family just because I'm not here every day. I'll visit as much as I can. And I'll really miss you all. So thank you very much, for all the happy memories and stuff, and… well, _goodbye_ , I guess."

"Thanks, Tyler, that was a really nice speech," Carmen smiled approvingly.

"We'll miss you too," added Elektra. " _But_ we hope you have a wonderful time with your mum."

"Now then," announced Mike. "Enough of the soppy stuff; time to get… _dancing_! Hit it, DJ Bird!"

From a mixing desk in the corner of the lounge, Bird fired up the music, and the kids soon found their feet and danced around the room, which was lit up by twirling multicolour strobes.

Jody, robed in a rarely-seen but pretty grey dress, came up to Tyler.

"Hi Jody," he greeted her. "You okay?"

"Coping," she smiled feebly. "I'm really, _really_ going to miss you."

"Yeah, me too," said Tyler; his mouth was twisted into a smile, but his eyes were expressing the sadness that threatened to rise to the surface. "But it's not exactly… _goodbye_. I'll come and visit!"

"Yeah, you'd _better_! …Can I come and visit _you_?"

"Mike said maybe when I'm properly settled in. But he _did_ say something about me coming here one day a week, just to give mum a break while she gets used to having me around."

"That'd be nice. I hope you have a great time with her, Tyler."

"It's going to be _amazing_ ," he smiled back.

Both of them were trying to mask their sadness. Neither of them could predict what was just around the corner.

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 9:** **_"_ Coping _"_  
** _(trigger warning: cutting)_ **  
**

* * *

 _Electricity company, dentist reminder, social worker…_ Mike flicked through a virtual mountain of emails that had cropped up overnight. _Conference invitation, spam, spam… ah, perfect!_ Mike had found the email he was looking for – a confirmation that his flight to Paris had successfully been booked!

He'd been planning this trip for months. Just Fiona and him in the most romantic city in the world. A city of fine wine, mature cheese (he'd have to bring some back for May-Li), splendid views and unparalleled attractions. They could see the sights, soak up the authentic French ambience, and luxuriate in each other's company.

 _The most beautiful woman in the most beautiful city in the world_. Mike thought he was the luckiest a man could get.

"Morning, darling," said Fiona, coming into the office.

Mike was shocked – he hadn't expected her to be here! Quickly, he flicked the computer monitor off. "Uh, yeah, morning!" he cried, flustered. They shared a kiss. "What are _you_ doing here? Come to see me?"

"Michael Milligan, you should know full well that I don't have _time_ to pay you surprise visits whenever I feel like seeing you… If I _did_ , however…"

"You'd be here all the time?" ventured Mike cheekily.

"As it happens, I've got… I've got a bit of news."

"Me too! Uh, you first. …should I be sitting down?" Mike joked.

"It's possibly a good thing that you _are_. There's no easy way to tell you this, but… I've been offered a very high-profile contract with an organisation in Romania that's working to reform the orphanages they've got there. An old friend of mine works out there, and she recommended me for a position on the board of directors."

"…And you've said yes?" breathed Mike.

Fiona nodded timidly. "It's a great project. I can't wait to make my mark on it, to be honest. Just for six months, though, that's all it is."

"Six _months_?" He couldn't handle all these revelations.

"Be happy for me, then."

"No, no, I am, it's just… _six months_. Fiona, are you sure? When do you start?"

"That's the thing… they want me by the end of the week."

Shock slammed Mike like a bulldozer, followed by a creeping sense of grief.

"…So what was _your_ news?"

Mike stared open-mouthed at Fiona.

"Your _news_?" Fiona prompted. Still no reply.

The phone broke the tension with an incongruously pleasant, insistent chime.

"I'm sticking around for a while; we can talk later," suggested Fiona, as Mike picked up the phone.

"Mike Milligan, Waterland House… Yes, that's correct… Who's… … … Oh _crikey_. Right, I'll tell him right away… Yes, thank you." He slammed the phone down.

"Nothing's the matter, I hope?"

"Yes," replied Mike solemnly. "It very much is. Fiona, this is gonna have to wait."

* * *

The start of the biggest day of Tyler's life couldn't have gone better.

He woke up feeling refreshed and ready. His alarm clock was playing his favourite song, and an excitable text from Jody pinged into his notifications. No trace of bedhead – _result_! His clothes lay perfectly folded on his chair, and everything else was neatly packed into a couple of bulging suitcases.

He quickly dressed, and brushed his teeth, every bone in his body aching with excitement for today. How could he _not_ have a great feeling about this?

Finally, after all the years of waiting, today he was going home.

He processed along the landing, avoiding the loose bit of carpet that normally thwarted him every morning, and galloped eagerly down the stairs. There was a big bowl of Frosted Loops in that kitchen with his name on it, if he could only—

"Tyler, could you come into the office please?" came Mike's voice.

"Can it wait, Mike? I'm hungry!"

"No, Tyler, it really, _really_ , can't."

Bemused, Tyler followed him into the office, where he was indicated a chair to sit down in. Mike sat forward in his chair and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, as if he was about to have to do something he really didn't want to have to endure.

"O- _kay…_ what is it?" Tyler asked, growing more worried as he interpreted Mike's reticence.

"Tyler, there's no easy way to say this… your mother has had what the doctors _believe to be_ a heart attack."

Tyler felt like he'd been punched in the heart.

He breathed quicker and quicker. "Wha-is she-"

"She was admitted about half an hour ago, so the doctors aren't too sure yet. Carmen'll take you to the hospital now, if you want to go."

He kept breathing, shallower and shallower, rapider and rapider, until Mike placed his hands firmly on Tyler's shoulders and urged him, "Calm down".

"Can- I- Can I… t… take Jody?" he asked between frantic, but slowing, breaths.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry this had to happen today. Now, go on! _Go_!"

Tyler ran upstairs to find Jody.

* * *

Carmen swept aside the flimsy blue curtain, and the three of them approached the bed. Tyler's mum lay there, covered from head to toe in a blue hospital sheet; she was just about managing to sit up in the bed. Relief lit up her face when she saw Tyler, like warmth spreading through her body.

"Hello, love," she said in the soft, warm singsong that Tyler had always loved. "Are you okay?"

"Are _you_ okay?" asked Tyler urgently as he sat in the chair placed next to the bed.

His mum turned to him, tears just starting to glow in the bottom corners of her eyes. Unable to say the syllable, she shook her head.

"What happened?" he asked softly, fighting against his own tears, the ones that stung his eyes as they determined to break free. He couldn't let them fall; that would make all of this _real_. It _wasn't_ real – it was all a fantasy, all a dream, and in the morning he would wake up and—

"Look, Tyler, I know I haven't got long left, and-"

" _Don't_ say that!" Tyler blurted, sounding louder and more abrupt than he meant to. In a gulping, voice-cracking whisper he asked, "How can you know that?"

"I can feel it. I can just feel it. I… … Tyler, if… … if it… _happens_ , then I need you to remember something, okay?"

Clutching his mum's hand, Tyler replied, "Anything".

She beckoned Carmen and Jody to come closer; the two young women crouched next to the bed. "I want you all to know that I am so, _so_ proud of my boy. Tyler, I want you to always remember how proud I am. Of the journey you've been on, of the times when you've chosen the right path, of all the wonderful things you've done to make me the luckiest, happiest mum in the world. I'm so happy we're able to find space for each other in our lives, even though I'm… ill."

Tyler nodded, swallowing time and time again, to suppress the tears and the words that would make this real.

She turned to Jody. "Jody, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You've been the best person Tyler could possibly have met, and I hope you two can stay together, as friends or partners or… _whatever_ , for as long as you can make each other happy. And Carmen, I can't thank you and Mike enough. You've really helped Tyler become his own man, and helped us get back together again. I'm so appreciative."

She looked back to Tyler, clasping his other hand in hers. "I mean it, Tyler." There was a newfound desperation in her shaking voice. "I don't have long."

"No! Don't say that. Mum! _Please_ don't say that." Still he locked up the tears.

"Keep making me proud. Keep being the beautiful, wonderful man that you are. Keep doing what you love, and what you think is right, with the people you love. I can't express how proud I am… I love you, Tyler."

"I love you too, mum," Tyler smiled, but it was a fake smile only reserved for a situation as unhappy as this. He couldn't bear to think what he'd do if she couldn't make it through this. But she was _mum_ – she'd been through worse before.

She grabbed his arm – it was like he was caught in a vice. Then she _SCREAMED_.

" _Mum?" shouted Tyler. "MUM?! MUUUMMM?!"_

 _Three nurses rushed in in slow-motion, pushing Jody and Carmen out of the way. Another followed, trying to take Tyler away. He snapped his head round to face him, and a tear launched across the room. Still clutching his mum's now limp hand, Tyler protested and protested – but eventually he knew he had to let go._

Because Sally Lewis' heart had given up on her.

* * *

Mike retreated to the staff room; he knew he'd find tissues there – he'd exhausted the office's supply already.

He couldn't believe how easy it was to cry about this. Two hours had been spent hunched on the office sofa, just silently sobbing and sobbing. He wasn't even sure why it had had such a massive effect on him.

It was just that everything had been going so _perfectly_. He really, really liked Fiona; an old flame had been rekindled, and he hadn't anticipated it being blown out so soon. They were just getting to the honeymoon period. Each of them was just enough of an enigma to the other, whilst they both felt like they knew each other's hearts inside out. He still had butterflies whenever she strolled through the door, and was undoubtedly her Prince Charming. The dates were good, the chemistry was good – _they_ were good.

But she'd so readily accepted the job. Two thousand miles away, for six entire months – he could hardly think about it. He knew her job was important to her, but so important that she was willing to put the brakes on everything they'd got going on?

Perhaps worst of all was the loneliness Mike knew was coming. It had happened the last time Fiona and he had gone their separate ways, like comets brushing past each other before continuing on their celestial trajectories – then, it had been like a knife to the heart, twisted round even further with each passing day, each solitary waking and lonely night. He could only dread what it would be like this time.

He knew he couldn't become that victim of grief. Not like last time – not again. Loss was the pain that could never be forgiven. Besides, now he was upset with _himself_ for not getting any work done that morning. Half a day, wasted to crying.

But how could he go on with his life? What would make post-Fiona existence bearable?

One thought came to mind: it wasn't one he particularly endorsed, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He remembered that, after his mum died, his heartbroken dad used to drink a lot of alcohol.

Yes, he knew it wasn't an ideal solution. He _knew_ it could become addictive, knew all the risks, knew it was probably a bad move. But he'd never really been one for alcohol himself – why would he suddenly become addicted now? He needed a desperate measure, and if it would help with the pain, he might as well at least _try_ it…

Mike retrieved a key from his pocket, turned it in its lock, and opened his locker. There was a dusty bottle of Pinot Grigio in there, something he'd been given as a present by Fiona back when they'd first met each other again. He reached into the locker and pulled out the bottle.

* * *

" _NO!"_ shouted Tyler angrily between sobs, as he emerged from the hospital onto the car park, followed by Jody and Carmen. Eventually they'd prised him away from his mother; he'd been shouting like that ever since.

Jody looked despairingly at Tyler, and then to Carmen, who completely understood what her eyes were asking and nodded her head in approval. Jody ran to catch up with Tyler.

"…Hey," she said, trying to catch his eye. But he was staring resolutely at the ground as he marched on. "Are you okay now?"

Tyler stopped and looked at her like she was an alien. "No, of _course_ I'm not fucking okay!" he roared. "Why the _HELL_ would I be okay?" He ran forward, towards a sturdy metal bin, and tried to kick it – but he misjudged it and sent his centre of gravity wildly off balance.

Jody caught him as he inelegantly toppled. She gently lowered him to the ground, where they both kneeled feebly, neither wanting this day to be real.

"Tyler, you'll hurt yourself," she warned. "I know this is a horrible, horrible shock, and I'm so, so _, so_ sorry, but don't feel like you have to be _angry_. Just let it out, whatever needs to come!"

For the first time since his mum died, Tyler made eye contact with Jody. A circle of tears was forming around each eyeball, shining in the midday sun. "My one chance with mum. Ruined."

"Hey, I know, I know. Let's get you home, yeah? And then if you want to talk, we can, and if you don't, that's fine too. Come on, up you get."

He fixed her with another tearful stare. "She was such a brilliant mum." Finally, Tyler let the tears overwhelm him; he collapsed into Jody's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, Carmen scooped them both up in a hug, and all three let this nightmare envelop them in its cold clutches.

* * *

Mike had never found the supermarket particularly irritating before. But in a post-Fiona world, the illuminated neon signs were just a little too bright, the checkout assistants a little too chirpy. Thankfully, he'd made it round and got everything on the list, with the help of Sasha and Demon. (Or, more accurately, hindrance, since they'd been bickering nonstop since before they'd even fastened their seatbelts.)

They were walking to the car, Demon having childishly lifted Sasha into the toddler seat on the front of the trolley and started pushing her along, when Mike initiated the plan.

"Oh, shoot," he said, slightly slurring his words in a way he hoped they wouldn't notice for an obvious sign of having finished a bottle of wine in a single sitting. "I was going to look for a birthday card for someone. Alright, if you guys load up the car, I'll just be a minute or two."

He dashed back into the supermarket, and eagerly powerwalked to the alcohol aisle. At random, he picked out four or five different drinks – beers, wines, cider – and shoved them into a basket. There was a lot of pain to drink away; hopefully this would make a dent in it.

* * *

Hearing the sound of a slamming car door, five or six kids appeared on the stairs, eagerly and nosily overlooking the entrance.

Elektra noticed them, and came out from the office to glare. "You're _sick_ , all of you. Go to your rooms!" A few looked reluctant to leave the scene. "I said _go_ to your _rooms_ ," repeated Elektra threateningly, and the small crowd dispersed, just in time.

The front door flew open and the unhappy party returned; all three of them still shed tears. Elektra put an arm around Carmen's shoulder and guided her into the office, trusting that Jody would look after Tyler.

Tyler, however, stormed through the entrance hall, putting his hands up to deflect a hushed "I'm so sorry, Tyler" that came from a loitering Aisha, and walked through the corridor, into the kitchen, and out through the back door.

He reached the garden. He'd never been a basketballer, he thought as he picked up a stray basketball and moved to the court, and wasn't about to start now – but desperate times called for desperate measures. Hurting a basketball was an acceptable substitute for hurting himself.

Bounce. _Oh Tyler._ Bounce. _Why the hell did this have to happen?_ Bounce. Bounce. _Today, as well – the cruellest day it could possibly have happened._ Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. _And now he had no mum_. Bounce. _Sounded odd to say it – but now he was an orphan_. Bounce. Bounce. _Why the HELL did this have to happen?_ Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. _Why the HELL could he never have nice things?_ Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. _How was he going to live with the grief?_ Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. _And when would—_

The ball bounced up and smacked him hard on the nose, with the force of a death.

He doubled over and clutched his bleeding nose.

* * *

From Demon's vantage point, perched on the edge of the attic hatch, looking down onto the landing, he saw Jay and Mike rounding the corner.

"Jay!" snapped Mike, more visibly furious than Demon had ever known him. "Some of us have _REAL_ problems! Now _GO! AWAY!"_ If there were a door around, surely he'd have slammed it. Instead, he flew down the stairs, and Jay retreated into the sanctuary of his and Bird's room.

The coast was clear; the time was right; the mission was on.

Like a stealthy black panther, Demon crept down the ladder from the attic and landed cat-like on the carpet of the landing, before tiptoeing to the staff room.

This wasn't meant to spite Mike – it wasn't a simple windup, either. Demon was desperate; he _needed_ this alcohol. He just needed something, _anything_ , to calm his nerves. They'd taken a substantial beating that evening.

He retrieved a set of keys from his pocket. He'd had spares cut in his first week at Waterland House – office keys, locker keys, front door key, the lot. Selecting the right one, he fumbled about with it in the lock, felt the pleasing twist, and swung the locker door open.

Perfect – just what he'd been looking for. The locker had virtually been transformed into a drinks cabinet. Two types of wine, a six-pack of beers, cider, rum. Demon wasn't fussy – he didn't even like the taste of alcohol – so he pulled two cans of beer from the pack, turned it round in the locker to mask his theft, and stole his way out of the room with the prize. He made sure to leave the locker open.

* * *

A knock on the door.

"Come in," said Tyler weakly, lying in bed in his pyjamas despite the early hour.

Jody entered – who else _could_ it have been? – and sat on the end of the bed. "Do you want me to help unpack some of your stuff?" she asked.

Tyler shook his head. "Next to me," was all he managed to utter, and he lifted up the duvet next to where he lay. She obliged; he put an arm around her, and she snuggled up next to him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked gently. "How's the nose?"

"If only I didn't ask to move in with her," he said, not really listening to her but still unconsciously giving her her answer. "It might have been the stress of me moving in that gave her the heart attack."

"It was probably nothing to do with that," Jody asserted.

"If only I paid her more attention," he continued. "I hadn't been talking to her as much recently. That's why I asked if I could move in. Maybe she was feeling lonely without someone to talk to."

"You're not _listening_ to me!" protested Jody.

"What?"

"Tyler, I know this has been the worst day ever. But you can't blame _yourself_ for something you had nothing to do with!"

"You're right," he conceded. "It _has_ been the worst day ever. Come 'ere." He looked into Jody's compassionate eyes and kissed her on the lips. It was just an impulse; it was just what felt right.

"What's _that_ for?" Jody asked, slightly angrily, slightly springing back.

"Don't ask, just kiss me." He leant in for another kiss, but Jody pushed him back, widening her eyes to show she wanted an answer. "Jody, I need something good to happen to _me_ for once. It's time I got the chance to be _happy_. I like you a lot. Just _please_ do it, for me."

He kissed her again, and she slightly reluctantly kissed back, torn between her crush on Tyler and her worries that she was just a means to an end. Was he using her? she wondered. Regardless, she kept on kissing him.

He abruptly broke off. "Jody…" he began, turning on his side and rummaging around in his bedside drawer. When he turned back, he held up a condom packet and delivered one whispered word: "Please."

Jody looked around shiftily. "Tyler, I don't…"

"I want you."

"…Tyler, I'm not… _ready_."

" _Jody!"_ he cried. "It's just sex. _Please_. I _need_ it. I need something to make me feel happy again."

Jody got up off the bed. "Tyler, I don't care _what_ you need, that's _not_ how you get it. You can't treat women like objects that are there to make you happy – if I say I'm not ready, I _mean_ I'm not ready, and that's a _no_."

"Jody, don't be difficult! I've had the worst day-"

" _I said no_. I get that you've had an awful day, but learn to control it better. That's _my_ advice. See you in the morning."

She turned and left, leaving Tyler all alone again.

* * *

 _Typical_ , thought Mike around half eleven that night, as he prowled the upstairs corridor checking for signs of people's lights still on, _SIX night managers, and NONE of them are free!_ For the first time in a good few months (since the week they'd moved to Waterland, when Mike had to stay overnight to keep an eye on a scared Taz), he was doing the night shift. _It had to be tonight, didn't it?_

Satisfied that nobody was still up, he collapsed on the bed in the staff room. God, he missed her so much already – and she hadn't even gone! Was he being a bit pathetic? He couldn't tell – all reason was blinded by the lumbering weight of loss.

And it was _nothing_! Tyler had lost his parent – that was _forever_ , not like losing Fiona just for six months. But, again, grief made him insensible to the pithy reality of the situation, because all he could focus on was how lonely he was going to be. Without the woman he loved. Without the good times they shared. Without the happiness she made him feel.

He rose from the bed and clumsily made his way to the locker. Swinging the door open, he was confronted by… a completely empty compartment! Where was the alcohol he'd just bought? Who'd taken it?

Suddenly, Mike's throat felt drier than it ever had before. Suddenly, he realised that he _needed_ a drink.

But no matter how desperate he was, there was no way he was going to start searching kids' rooms in the dead of night to find his alcohol. So how could he satiate that howling, insistent _need_?

He scrambled down the stairs and pulled on his jacket. Complex, interweaving, caring thoughts were quickly disintegrating, replaced by the screaming desire for alcohol. He'd be back in just five minutes, he assured himself. The shop was just a few streets away. Desperate times.

And so, in his haste, in the dead of night, Mike left Waterland House unlocked, and went off to find his coping mechanism.

* * *

 _Peace at last. Just him and Fiona, bobbing up and down on the gentle sea. A briny, diaphanous mist rolled along the air, caressing the scene, as cooing gulls arced overhead._

 _Suddenly, something in the atmosphere changed. The spluttering wind grew portentously cooler and cooler, whilst Mike felt the boat getting further and further away from dry land. He took notice of the gulls for the first time – there was something anticipatory about their swooping, sweeping movements as they moved ever lower, pincer-like teeth snapping eagerly within their bulky beaks in chilling synchronisation._

 _Then the birds dived downwards in swarms, slicing through the air like scythes._

 _And the sea was a battleground, millions of miles of eternal blue suddenly given way to fury, hurling line after line of lionhearted troops towards Mike and Fiona's boat. Turbulent breakers knocked Fiona to the floor. A capricious baby throwing toys out of its pram, the sea spat jets of piercing, icy water into Mike's face._

 _The merciless tempest chuckled on. The roaring tumult deafened them._

 _Mike looked around – Fiona was falling out!_

 _"NOOOO!" he shouted – but it was too late! She toppled into the sea's gargantuan mass of coiled, writhing limbs, dragged from sanctuary to slaughterhouse._

 _When Mike turned back, he saw all of the Waterland House kids standing there on the boat. They hadn't been there before!_

 _The sea was a face, its highest mountainous peaks the arched white eyebrows, radiating anger before vanishing back into the throbbing blue, its gaping mouth groaning rhythmically. Mike could have sworn it was smiling._

 _Were these kids all Mike had left? He loved them, but swapping Fiona for them wasn't a fair trade! Angrily, as if possessed by Poseidon himself, he pushed them all off the boat, one by one. They didn't even resist, as the sonorous gale bellowed out its miseries and its invisible whip cracked against the sides of the boat. As the kids drowned, one by one._

 _And then, as suddenly as it had started, the cataclysm died away. It left Mike all alone, on his flimsy boat, with nothing left._

* * *

Tyler waggled his phone about – its face lit up and told him that the time had just flicked past 3am. He was sat in the dead centre of his bed, the king of a fortress of tear-stained tissues – they gloated about the life he could have been enjoying right now.

Fate had a way of laughing at people, he supposed. For years, he'd pined for a life with his mum – just him and her, together at last. After all the trouble with her illness, it would have been the fresh start they both needed. A fresh start he'd been denied by an evil universe.

Was it his fault? Had he done something deemed so inappropriate by the karmic forces as to sentence death on the woman he loved the most? She'd given him life; had he given her death? Maybe Tyler would never be able to answer these questions.

What was the point? Sally Lewis hadn't always been there for him when he needed her, but your mum is like your anchor, your lighthouse and your buoy in one – keeping you grounded, warning you away from the bad path and guiding you along the good one. He didn't know how he could cope without her. True, he had Jody (oh god, Jody, poor Jody – how was he meant to fix that mess?), and life would go on (as it had the annoying persistence of doing), but what kind of life would it be, without _her_ , his guide?

Today had taken everything out of him – his eyes were red raw, and his throat had been chipped away by six hours of straight sobbing. Sweat soaked his forehead. He hadn't eaten, or even seen another human being (apart from Jody) (oh god, Jody) since he came back. He'd barely slept a wink.

This wasn't a life.

And in that moment, Tyler realised what he needed to do.

He slid his bedside drawer out, and took the scissors in his hand. Felt the cold metal of the blades. Felt the cold skin of his wrist, with the delicate blue veins flowing like roots underneath. Said a private goodbye to his room, and his school friends, and Jody, and the Dumping Ground, and this life, and Mum. And prepared to make the first cut.

"NO!" screamed Jody, rushing into Tyler's room.

"Jody!" Tyler exclaimed in surprise, staring up at her with eyes so full of tears he could barely make her out. Her hair was wild; she, too, evidently hadn't had much sleep. "What are you doing?"

" _Tyler, think about what you're doing_!" she hissed.

"I have," he reported sorrowfully. "I took a look at my life… and I realised it's just not worth it anymore."

"Hey, hey, it's _always_ worth it. A day like this, it's never gonna go away, and you'll feel the effect of it for the rest of your life – but you've _got_ to just accept it, get used to a slightly different life… _move on_."

"Oh yeah, and what would you know about it?" he sobbed, a lump rising in his throat.

"Well, _my_ mum's not really there for me much, is she? She's been… poisoned against me, just like the others! 'Cos she's terrified of Kingsley. She _never_ thinks about me. She's a _rubbish_ mum. I'm _not_ saying it's a similar situation, not in any way, but… this kind of big, big change happens in your life, and you've _got_ to live with it. I can't dress it up. That's how it is."

"No. You're right – it's _not_ the same thing, not at all! You've _got_ a mum at least – I…" He couldn't finish the sentence; the tears were clogging up his throat and choking his resolve. He had to let them free.

Tyler collapsed into Jody's waiting arms. She quickly grabbed the scissors from where he'd unconsciously dropped them, then, as gently as she could manage, manoeuvred the two of them round so that she was lying with her head on the pillow. _He_ lay with his head resting on Jody's chest, gently sobbing. There was some kind of freedom in being able to let out his emotions to her.

"I know… I know…" repeated Jody sympathetically. He felt the reassuring, continuous, soft sweep of her dressing gown as she stroked his head.

"I'm so sorry," Tyler cried, his whole body wrenching with the effort of each successive sob.

Jody quietly shushed him. "It's okay," she whispered. They stayed like that for a few minutes, then Tyler got up off Jody's chest and lay on his back next to her. He pulled the duvet up over their legs.

Jody turned to him; she looked at him with exhausted eyes. "Keep going," she whispered. "For me; for everyone here; for everyone that loves you more than they could ever express."

"Mum said she was proud of me," remembered Tyler. "I suppose I'll always have that." He sniffed loudly; this onslaught of crying was coming to an end.

"So _keep_ making her proud. Don't throw it all away because of this." He nodded. She reached across to kiss him on the cheek.

They lay like that for the rest of the night, and fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

 _Coping. That's what it's all about. Call it grieving, or acceptance, or pain, or whatever you choose – but in the end, the worst part of a tragedy is what happens next. Picking up the pieces, putting them back together again in some semblance of order, just so you can keep living your life. Learning to live in this strange new world you've been forced to inhabit. A world without Fiona, or without your mum, or… Well._

 _They say the way we cope says a lot about us as people. If we can't deal with the bad things in our lives without resorting to anger – then we're too much slaves to our emotions. If we just sit in our room and cry for days on end – then we're too weak to manage setbacks. If we look for an escape, a distraction – then we're deluded. There_ is _no way out. In life, when the pain comes, you have to_ let _it come, let it infect you, let it_ infest _you. I'd much rather be weak than deluded._

 _If only I could stick to my own advice._

* * *

7:53am. Mike collapsed into his office chair and, despairingly, remembered he hadn't brought his coffee through from the kitchen. Still, there was no point now – his head hurt _far_ too much for him to move, and his eyes burned when he looked to either side. What a terrible start to the week, he thought, as he downed two paracetamol with some water.

The worst part of the hangover was that it reminded him of what he'd done.

Someone enthusiastically knocked on his door, and he shouted them to come in.

Rafiq, Aisha and Floss burst in, looking tired but smart in their dark grey school jumpers.

"Good morning!" screamed Aisha, shattering Mike's eardrums.

"Yes, good morning Aisha," whimpered Mike. "Actually, Aisha, I've got a bit of a headache today, so if you could just _keep it down_ a little…"

"We've got a present for you!" shouted Floss.

"Oh, have you? That's _lovely_ , Floss… what is it?"

"Well, close your eyes then and we'll _show_ you!"

Mike did as he was instructed, closing his eyes and holding out his arms. Something heavy landed in them, and he opened his eyes to find a scrapbook!

Delightfully decorated with a vast range of sparkly stars, glittering stickers and felt-tip swirls, the multi-coloured cover announced it as 'MIKE & FIONA'S MEMORY BOOK'.

He turned the page to find a selection of photos of him and Fiona. He hadn't even realised the kids had _taken_ some of these. He couldn't help but be struck by how happy they looked in all of them.

"Do you like it?" asked Rafiq. "It's a memory book. We all helped to make it, so you don't get sad when Fiona goes away."

Mike could hardly speak. "It's beautiful," he nodded, flicking through the multi-coloured pages filled with pictures, drawings (he noticed Sasha had contributed some amusing caricatures), little notes, cinema tickets and all other kinds of mementoes.

"I'm happy you like it," confessed Aisha.

"Do you know what? I really do. It's really, _really_ cheered me up – thanks guys." They smiled at him happily. "Now, come on, breakfast time – what do you say I make you pancakes?"

* * *

Ah, but that had been the _morning_. Morning was full of life, and vigour, and hope – in Mike's case, the hope that he could get by without Fiona.

But now it was the evening, and the harsh light of day had shone onto all his hopes. He'd passed hours and hours at his desk, filling out paperwork that didn't even need filling out, just for something to do. It was much worse today, a school day, when he had limited distractions. For the rest of the time, when no distraction could be found, he'd spent the time wondering what went wrong to drive Fiona away like that.

Now the evening had arrived, and he'd put Elektra in charge of keeping the dinnertime peace whilst he took a quick break in the staff room. He retrieved the memory book from his locker. It was really sweet, he had to concede, to see the effort they'd put in to make sure he had this permanent reminder of her. But that was the problem.

As he flicked through these photos of happy times and mementoes of glorious days out, the memories came flooding to him. He was old enough to know the power of memories – they kept loved ones alive in the mind, and let you revisit the past that made you who you are in the present – but right now, when he was dreading the imminent loss of Fiona, those memories were just cruel teasing reminders of everything he was about to lose. The company, the adventures, the emotions, this beautiful woman…

He had a horrible feeling this book was making his heartache worse.

Mike reached into the locker, examined his newly-purchased stash, grabbed a bottle of red wine, and glugged some straight from the bottle.

* * *

"How do I look?"

Jody straightened Tyler's tie and stepped back to admire him. "Beautiful."

"Not too bad yourself."

She blushed a little. "Are you ready, then? It starts at eleven, doesn't it?"

Tyler nodded.

"This is going to be such a big day for you," admitted Jody. "And you're going to have to be so brave. Giving a eulogy isn't exactly _easy_ – but I know you can do it."

"It's just a funeral," breathed Tyler. "It's just my chance to remember the most amazing woman in the world, right? Should be the easiest thing ever." He smiled reassuringly.

"Don't be afraid to cry if you need to."

He nodded. "'Course."

"You know, she _would_ be so proud of you."

Tyler smiled. She'd never seen him look so grown up.

"They say funerals help you gain closure," noted Jody.

"Yeah, I think I'm ready for that. And then, _after_ today, I know I've got some amazing memories of her, to keep me going if I'm struggling. I guess I'm lucky to have those."

"I'm proud of you too, Tyler."

The two friends smiled at each other, their eyes full of mutual understanding.

"Are you ready?" asked Carmen, swinging her head round the door.

Tyler took a look at Jody, who smiled back.

"Ready," he confirmed. "Let's do this."

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed - if you did, feel free to leave a review, because it's lovely to hear what you're thinking. Behind-the-scenes: this week's research was minimal - mainly just a look into Elisabeth Kubler Ross & David Kessler's 'five stages of grieving' model (if you're interested, they are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance). This one was outlined on 19 January 2019, and written from 26-29 January. When writing 'Coping', I hit the 'replay' button like no tomorrow on Karine Polwart's song "Hole in the Heart", which _Tracy Beaker Returns_ will remember from the Elektra-returning-home episode of Series 3. Go on, give it a look on YouTube and feel the memories come flooding back!**

 **Here's your sneak peek at next week:  
** When Carmen and Elektra's careworkers' union rep arrives at Waterland House, Mike is amazed to find that it's a face from his past, who's prescribing a relaxing day trip to the Lake District! Jetting off to a private island in the middle of an unforgiving lake, Jody and Tyler confront their feelings together, but end up in more trouble than they could possibly imagine - whilst the rest of the Young People find themselves lost halfway up a mountain!  
 **Episode 10, "A Day on the Lake", is coming next Friday (22 March).**


	10. A Day on the Lake

It was a Sunday morning – and a very busy one at that!

That was what Carmen thought as she descended the treacherous stairs, dodging children and indoor tennis games and the hoover wire to reach the entrance hall. EVERYTHING was cacophonous.

"WHY," screamed Sasha, following Carmen down the stairs in her dressing gown, with her messy hair devoid of its multi-coloured extensions, "HAVE I JUST BEEN WOKEN UP AT _SEVEN_ ON A _SUNDAY_?!"

Carmen was about to answer, when she noticed a football arcing through the air and heading straight for the glass windows of the office! She _dived_ – had she been quick enough? – she stretched out her arms – as long as she could – got to reach the ball…

It slammed into her palms and she wheeled around. " _Guys_!" she said, exasperated. "No football in the house, yeah? How do you even have the _energy_ this early?"

" _Exactly!"_ shouted Sasha. "Will _no-one_ tell me why I'm _forced_ to be up this early?"

"If I knew, I'd happily tell you," said Carmen, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. "Has anyone seen Mike?"  
"WHAT?" asked Tyler, pointing to his ears.

"HAS?! ANYONE?! SEEN?! MIKE?!"

"OH… UM… NO!"

Carmen mouthed 'thanks', rolled her eyes (where _was_ he? This was chaos!) and forged a path through the space. Mike had told them yesterday that everyone had to clear their diary for today (no ifs, no buts) – but he hadn't told them _why_!

Carmen was getting more and more furious, ducking past kids' flailing arms, when Elektra emerged from the kitchen, dressed in a blue button-up shirt, her hair tied up and with a duster and a can of polish in her hand.

"MORNING!" she called above the din.

"MORNING! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" asked Carmen.

"CLEANING! OUR UNION REP'S COMING TODAY."

" _WHAT?_ WHO'S OUR UNION REP?"

"I DON'T KNOW, BUT WE HAVE TO MAKE A GOOD IMPRESSION. HAVE YOU SEEN MIKE?"

"NO! NOBODY HAS! _JAY, PUT THAT FOOTBALL DOWN_!"

"CAN YOU QUICKLY CHECK THE KITCHEN'S CLEAN?"

" _WHAT_?" yelled Carmen, straining to hear Elektra above twelve kids all shouting at each other in the cramped entrance hall.

"I SAID, CAN YOU—"

They were interrupted by three very loud, very decisive knocks on the door. Elektra motioned to Carmen, who found a way to the door whilst Elektra shushed the kids.

Carmen unlocked the door and swung it open. She was met by a flustered-looking early-40s woman whose clipboard was the only indicator she had any grip on reality. Her shiny black hair, more greasy than glossy, swept down into tiny curtains framing a face that radiated concern; it was impossible for Carmen to believe she wasn't a youth councillor of some description. One of her eyes had a slight smoky effect, the other apparently _didn't_ , and her lipstick made her lips blend into her skin, like she had no mouth, whilst her sartorial decisions could kindly be summed up as 'ill-advised': she'd teamed long beige shorts with a light blue shirt, looking like a well-intentioned raid on Primark.

The woman tried to stick a hand out, but realised it would be impossible with a pen in one hand and clipboard in the other. After much adjusting, she thrust the hand out again, and Carmen slightly reluctantly shook it.

"Good morning… Carmen, is it?" she simpered.

"How do you know my name? Who _are_ you?"

"I'm your careworkers' union representative. I'm here just to get to know you a little bit, see how you're getting on as we approach the six-month stage. I must say, it sounds like they're _rioting_ in there! Let's see if we can't sort that out."

The woman gently eased past Carmen into the entrance space, determined to sort out the residual chaos. Jay and Bird were playing football, Aisha and Rafiq loitering on the stairs, Ryan and Chloe playing catch, Sasha shouting at the top of her voice and Floss lying face-down in the middle of the carpet – but through all that, this strange woman spotted Mike as he lumbered down the stairs.

" _Mike?"_ she exclaimed, her jaw dropping in shock. "I had no idea—"

Mike's eyes widened. " _Elaine_?"

And just at that moment, Jay kicked the football a little too vigorously – before she could move, Elaine was hit straight in the face.

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 10: "A Day on the Lake"**

* * *

Blurry… everything so blurry…

Elaine let her eyes focus on the exceedingly blue room around her. She sat up, winced with the sudden sharp pain in her head, then replaced it with a rehearsed cheery smile.

"Ah, good morning, everyone! I- … No. I've already _said_ good morning; what do I mean?"

"Hello, Elaine," said Mike softly. "You're in the quiet room. You might remember you took a football to the face just now, so we thought it'd be best for you to stay in here for a little while."

" _No_ chance!" Elaine grinned. "Thank you for your _concern_ , Mike, but…" She clasped her hands together in excitement. "Oh, whata fun day we're going to have!"

"Yes, I was meaning to ask about that, Elaine… What _exactly_ do you have planned for us today? I'm assuming _you're_ the reason why we've all been told to book our Sunday off."

"Yes, yes!" she enthused, taking a cup of tea that Mike offered. "Oh, it's going to be so _marvellous_ , Mike, it really is, yes, because, you see, we're going, all of us, we're going… on a day trip!"

"A day trip? Where _to_?" Mike raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"All in good time. And, before you ask – don't worry, this _has_ all been cleared by the council, oh yes, pages and _pages_ of paperwork it took, but don't worry, we're sorted now. Yes, it'll be great. _I'll_ be able to get to know how Carmen and Elektra are settling in, whilst the kids can have some _educational_ and _enriching_ fun!"

"Question still stands – where are we going?"

"You'll find out when we get there! No spoiling the surprise. Oh Mike, it's good to see you again."

Mike smiled. "And you too."

"Oh, it's going to be _lovely_! So… lovely!"

* * *

"And… Lewis! No, hang on, sorry – _Tyler_!"

Tyler grunted in reply.

"That means we are…" Elaine fiddled about flipping the sheets on her clipboard. " _missing_ … Traylen comma Demon. Any ideas, anyone?"

"He's meeting his social worker this afternoon, so we've let him stay at home. Don't worry – there's a relief careworker coming in," Mike assured her, oblivious to the fact that Demon had cancelled that careworker _days_ ago.

"So we _have_ got everyone – _brilliant_!" beamed Elaine. She carefully discarded the clipboard and addressed the group. "Come on everyone, off your phones for a minute, and I'll explain where we are!"

They'd been on the road for ages and ages, watching the houses outside the minibus gradually thin out to be replaced by streets of trees and estates of winding country lanes. Now, they were stopped in a rocky car park; by craning their necks round, the kids could just make out a mountain, looming ominously down at them, bridging the dusty yellow car park and the eternal clouds.

"Well, children," began Elaine excitedly, "I'm _delighted_ to announce that we're in the beautiful heart of… the Lake District!" The kids groaned and began to complain. "Order! Order!" Elaine shouted feebly. The shouts grew louder and louder, a hailstorm of 'why are we doing _this_?'s and 'this is the worst day ever's and 'I can't believe we're spending Sunday _here_ 's.

"QUIIIIEEET!" roared Elektra. The kids promptly shut up. "Let's let Elaine finish."

"Yes, thank you, uh… Elektra," flustered Elaine, pushing her greasy black hair behind her ear (it immediately sprung back). "Right, so the plan is for a fun, educational, enriching day out! _Feel_ the fresh air, _smell_ the countryside, _hear_ the sounds of the mountains!"

Under his breath, Ryan sang, " _The hills are alive…_ " and Joseph giggled.

"So, we're going to climb up a hill – or a fell, actually, I think it's a fell – and then we should end up at a _glorious_ lake just in time for a late lunch. And as a bonus bit of excitement, I've managed to enter one of you into a Rotary Club Young Photographers' competition! Isn't that _exciting_?"

"So… who is it?" asked Floss.

"Well, we only have the one camera, and I thought that _Sasha_ here…" Sasha winced at the mention of her name. "…would be more than capable of taking some great wildlife pictures during today's festivities."

"Whoop-di-doo," groaned Sasha.

"Right, children, I want to get going as early as possible, so let's be quick setting off. It should take about three and a half hours to get up Great Cockup."

The kids looked uneasily at each other, defying one another not to splutter with laughter.

Mike ventured the question, "To get up _what_?"

"It's the name of the hill. Come on, Great Cockup awaits!"

* * *

Three quarters of an hour down the line, the unenthusiastic group were trudging up a stony mountain path, hemmed in on both sides by rocky walls. If they'd turned round to look at how far they'd come, they would have been privy to the unparalleled beauty of the expansive green valley, the patches of dark green trees and the lush patchwork quilt of pastures. Instead, they were busy complaining about how tired their feet were; Elaine was dismissing it all as nonsense.

"Okay, soooo…" said Carmen, swooping past Elektra to stand next to Mike. "How _do_ you know her?"

"Who, Elaine?"

"Well, _duh_ ," said Elektra, pulling a face.

"Ah, it takes me back to the good old days, this does – she was a social worker, back when I was working in care homes down South. Must have been fifteen years ago when we started working together. She was _Tracy's_ social worker, actually."

"Ah, cool," said Carmen. Then something dawned on her. "Wait! Is she in Tracy's book – is she Awful Aileen?"

Mike gave a subtle nod and Carmen's eyes widened in terror.

* * *

A little way behind, Tyler and Jody brought up the rear.

"Tyler," said Jody, very, very quietly. "This is boring, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he whispered back.

"Do you wanna go somewhere better?"

"Suppose so."

Together, they snuck off back down the hill, to find somewhere better.

* * *

They must have covered thousands of miles, Sasha thought, but somehow the clock on her phone only read 10:30. And her feet hurt so, so much, and the October wind was whipping round her, sending her hair into a Medusa frenzy, and she hadn't taken a single bloody picture yet.

"How's our resident photographer doing?" called Elaine from a little way in front, where she stood in all her beige glory, a map hanging from her neck in a plastic pouch.

"Terribly!" replied Sasha honestly.

"Oh, don't say that – I'm sure it's going _marvellously_!" Elaine cooed as she marched back to join the rest of the uninterested group. "Right, can I have your attention, everyone! I think we've more than earned a little pit stop at this point. Yes, come on, let's have a break, everyone, sit down!"

"Sit down _where_? On the ground?" asked Bird, looking suspiciously at the muddy, stony, sloping path they were walking up.

"Well, yes, _you_ can all sit on the ground; I'm off for a comfort break."

Elaine turned and walked further up the path.

"Mike?" asked Jay. "What's a comfort break?"

"Do you know, Jay, I don't actually know," he replied. Suddenly it dawned on him, as he saw Elaine stop and take off her rucksack. With all his might, he shouted, "DON'T LOOK, KIDS! FOR GOD'S SAKE, _DON'T LOOK!_ "

* * *

Tyler and Jody felt like they'd been walking for years, too. But they'd been going in an entirely different direction – Tyler had led her down a narrower path that led off the main track, and they'd been following it aimlessly for half an hour or so.

"This is actually quite nice, isn't it?" reflected Tyler out loud. "Peaceful, I mean."

"Peaceful, yeah, but also _painful_! My knees are stinging."

"We're nearly at the top of this hill… I don't know, maybe it's just having the others there that makes it all boring and stressful. It's nice when it's just us two."

Jody smiled, partly at Tyler's comment and partly because they'd reached the summit of the hill. The view was _stunning_ : a picturesque, hidden idyll. Patches of heather illuminated the curtain of mighty green hills, which stood like sentries around a vast pellucid lake, iridescent in the light of the furiously shining sun. The light breeze, the moderate heat, the utter tranquillity – everything spoke of a quiet, contented power. It was like a perfect scene arranged by award-winning architects and sculpted in mountain.

"Look!" cried Tyler, pointing into the middle of the lake. Jody had noticed it too: nestled in the middle of the sprawling lake was a tiny island, unimposing and unassuming. Protective trees encircled the centre, shielding it from view. It looked private; it looked enticing. Jody's eyes wandered across to the edge of the lake, where an old off-white rowing boat and its battered oars had been abandoned on the rocky shore.

"I think we've found somewhere to spend today," she smiled.

"Jody, we can't row! How are we gonna get there?"

"Anyone can _row_ , Tyler. Come on, it'll be fun."

Tyler thought about this; she was probably right. Time for an adventure.

* * *

"Come here, everyone – I've got a treat for us all!"

The kids had only known Elaine for a few cruelly long hours, yet they already knew to be wary of her 'treats'; Elaine operated on a whole other scale of 'fun'. How odd that she'd spent a lifetime working with children, but still couldn't understand them.

As soon as the group had crowded around, Elaine lowered her rucksack to the floor, rummaged about in its capacious innards, and produced several tinfoil packages.

"Sandwiches!" she exclaimed, handing them round. "Lovely homemade sandwiches!" From the disapproving looks on some of the kids' faces, she might as well have handed them a bag of dog poo. "Well, you couldn't go without lunch, could you all, now?"

She distributed the last of the packages, and the kids suspiciously opened them up. In sync, they grimaced.

" _Egg mayonnaise_?" spluttered Floss, holding her nose.

"Be thankful it's only that – I've got spam or something!" cried Jay.

"Ew, what's that?" asked Carmen in disgust, gazing in horror at her lunch.

Elaine peered at Carmen's sandwich. "Oh, that's some _lovely_ sandwich spread!"

"It _looks_ like _sick_ ," Carmen said under her breath. Meanwhile, Aisha, who had a little less moderation than some of the others, simply chucked her sandwich away like a tinfoil grenade.

The rest of the kids sat on the stone seats that had been erected near the trig point – they'd now reached the summit, and their aching feet were going to need a hell of a rest before attempting the descent.

"Eat up, children!" Elaine smiled. "We're going to need all the energy we can muster, if we're to encounter the Lake Sprite!"

"The _what_?" asked Jay judgmentally.

"Yes, the Lake Sprite! It's the reason why I've planned the walk to end at the lake, you see – it's all local folklore, very interesting."

"So who _is_ the Lake Sprite?" Aisha asked sweetly.

"Well, she's a fairy, of sorts, and her castle is supposed to be in a hill by the lakes, and, well, she grants wishes, and does things like that."

"Are we going to meet her?" wondered Rafiq.

"Well, we'll see, won't we?" smiled Elaine.

The older kids were all thinking the same thing – what a load of nonsense. Clearly, Elaine had realised that nobody liked her, and was trying to get the younger ones to side with her with a load of preschool fairytale gibberish. To them, this was just further evidence of Elaine being rubbish.

Elaine smiled. She had everything under control.

* * *

Jody and Tyler rowed up onto the bed of pebbles which marked the boundary between the voluminous lake and the minuscule island. After making sure the boat was securely moored to a stump of wood that stuck up from the stones, they traipsed up to the circle of trees. A quick peer through a gap in the wooden Stonehenge revealed the mother of all oases.

The ground was thick, hard, flat mud, with small plants dotted about the surface. Suspended between two sturdy trees, and bathed in the glow of the sun, was a big striped hammock. It was like a dream. More than that, it was peace.

The two friends had the same idea at once, and both squeezed through the gap in the trees, quickly kicked their shoes off, and gently clambered into the hammock. It took a moment for them to adjust their legs so they both comfortably fit in, but eventually they lay opposite each other, their legs entwined in the centre.

"So…" said Jody quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace of this perfect clearing.

"So…"

"We're here."

"Yeah, yeah we are. It's nice."

" _Really_ nice. And the weather's so nice, too."

"Great weather, yeah… Yeah… it's nice."

Jody couldn't stand this small talk. Exactly what was it achieving? Nothing. There were things that needed to be said – they _both_ knew that. So why not start with the biggest question of all?

She looked him in the eyes, admiring their seductive hazel beauty as the sun illuminated them, and asked, "How _are_ you, Tyler?"

* * *

Onwards marched the DG gang. Having a map around her neck hadn't helped Elaine (who was very clearly lost), whilst there was no phone signal for the kids to navigate their way out of this mess. None of this deterred her.

"Isn't this a fun day?" she exclaimed, sidling up to Elektra and Carmen.

"Yeah, yeah, we're all having… lots of… fun," lied Elektra.

"So, how are you settling in?" she asked. "How's Waterland House living up to your expectations?"

"I think it's wonderful," said Carmen. "Honestly, I do. There's _never_ a dull day."

"How do you both feel the transition has gone, from cared-for Young Person to careworker? It's not been very long since you were in the system yourselves."

"It's been fine. A couple of times it's been a little bit weird, but we've all got into the swing of things now, so we know where we stand. The kids are really nice, Mike's great-"

"Ah, yes. I assume he must have got a little better over the years – he really wasn't up to all that much back when we worked together."

Elektra was visibly shocked. "No, Mike's _great_!"

"You must admit, he's been acting a little strangely today, hasn't he?"

Before Elektra could make a retort, there came a horrific shriek from somewhere behind them. The careworkers all wheeled round and were met by the sight of Jay, who lay face-down in the grass. They rushed to him and helped him to awkwardly push out his hands, manoeuvring him into a sitting position.

"Oh goodness, are you okay?" asked Elaine frantically. "Jason, are you okay?"

"It's _Jacob_!" hissed Elektra.

"It's _Jay_!" gasped Jay. "I'm okay, honestly, I just… I think I've sprained my ankle. Ahh, it really hurts".

"Right, don't worry, everyone, I'm trained in health and safety procedures," Elaine assured the assembled group. "Mike, please would you take Jay back to the bus – I think there _might_ be a shortcut if you keep going left until the end of this field, and then… oh, I don't know; just try your best. The rest of us, onwards and upwards!"

She turned and marched down the dewy field. Snapping her head around to check the group was keeping up, she spotted Sasha stealthily creeping off the other way, following Mike and a limping Jay.

"Sasha!" shouted Elaine, turning and stomping up to the sheepish girl.

" _WHAT_?!" roared Sasha.

"Come on, what's got into you?"

"What's got _into_ me? I'm _BORED_ , that's what!"

"But how can you be bored? This is the Lake District! And I bet you've taken some _marvellous_ photographs."

"I've not taken _any_ , Elaine. Not! One! There's _nothing_ here worth taking a picture of, and even if there _was_ , I probably wouldn't notice because I'm so _bored_!"

"Sasha, this is just _typical_ of you today – it's your whole defeatist attitude, all over! Come on, today should be really fun – but you have to have the right mindset!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't."

Sasha stormed away.

* * *

"How _am_ I? What, right now? In general?"

"Well, _both_ if you wanna answer both, I guess," replied Jody, shifting slightly in the divine warmth of the sunlight.

"Well, right _now_ , I'm having a lovely afternoon. In general… yeah, I'm not too bad. Better than I thought I'd be, to be honest with you, for two weeks after… you know, after it _happened_. She's gone, and I guess that's just something I have to live with."

"You're being really brave about it, Tyler."

"Yeah, well I guess you just _have_ to be, don't you?"

"Not necessarily. It's a big thing to happen to you. If you need someone to talk to, someone to cry to – it's me. I'll be that person."

"Yeah, I know," he smiled weakly. "I know."

"Guess it helps that you've got us lot at the Dumping Ground, right?"

"Suppose so... do you know what I miss most about her?"

"Oh Tyler, don't say things like that – it'll just make you miss her more."

"No, it's okay! Guess."

"I don't know, her… smile?"

"Nope. It was just… nice to know she was… _there_ , you know? That's it – her presence, I guess."

"But you've always got Mike, or me, or… maybe Carmen or someone? I don't want you to feel alone. We'll be there for you."

"Not forever, though. You _can't_ be – you've got your own lives to lead! That's what worries me most – after uni, when it's just me, all alone, with nobody to fall back on."

"Who's saying you need to fall back on _anyone_?" Jody smiled encouragingly, blinking in the sunlight. "And I reckon there's _loads_ of other people feeling like that. You've _got_ to be one of the strongest of them."

"Thanks. Even if you don't mean it."

"Of _course_ I mean it! Don't be silly, you. I'm proud of you for coping so well. And I'm sure your mum would have been too."

Tyler's soul felt a little relieved.

* * *

 _Stupid walk. Stupid hills._ These were Sasha's thoughts as she dejectedly stomped her way along a mountainous path, not noticing that she was actually going further _up_ the mountain she was trying to descend. _Stupid Lake District. Stupid camera._ It still swung on its strap around her neck; she hadn't taken a single photo – not as a form of rebellion; simply because there had been nothing worth photographing.

Maybe her temperament was just more inclined towards defacing, rather than preserving. That was the beauty of graffiti, the freedom to turn the everyday into the canvas. So what if some stuffy people thought it was vandalism – if the original had no aesthetic interest, then where was the harm in _making_ it interesting? Society was always moving on – a living, breathing ecosystem of people – so why shouldn't people be allowed to keep the monuments and buildings around them fresh and vibrant, living and breathing?

Instead she'd been asked to take pictures, preserve millennia-old hills (that had probably been photographed millions of times before)… for what purpose exactly? _Stupid day out. Stupid Elaine._

She turned a corner and forgot everything she'd just thought.

About twenty feet above her, perched in a little alcove in the crag, was the most majestic-looking bird she'd ever seen. Its feathers shone in a treasure-trove of browns, and its stick-like legs tapered to four hooked talons on each foot. Its stern, judgmental face seemed to survey the fields below it. The King of the Valley.

Quickly, Sasha primed the camera and took as many pictures as she could. The creature – surely a bird of prey (of some sort) – gave a high-pitched screech and, extending its wings to their full majestic wingspan, took off from the cliff. As it soared through the skies, Sasha's finger kept clicking the camera buttons. This would shut Elaine up.

* * *

"Okay, enough of the emotional stuff – pick a number from 1 to 75," pleaded Tyler, showing Jody the webpage open on his phone.

"Uh, I don't know… 38."

He scrolled down. "Okay… if you could be a pizza topping, which one would you be?"

Jody laughed. "If I could _be_ one? … Um, pineapple. Not everyone's sure about me, but if you like me, you like me."

Tyler giggled. "Okay, fine, whatever… pick another."

"Nah, it's your turn, mister!"

"Okay," he said, handing her the phone. "58."

She found the right question. "Have you ever broken a bone?"

"Never," he announced proudly. "What about you?"

"Wrist and left elbow."

"Guess I'm just made of stronger stuff than you," teased Tyler, earning a light slap. He smiled. "I like this game. This is much better."

* * *

"Okay, okay," said Elaine excitedly. "I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… G."

Immediately, Elektra threatened, "If it's 'grass' again…"

"Yes, it's grass!" chirped Elaine, her forehead green from when Ryan had tricked her into rubbing it after she'd had her hands in the grass. "Well done, Elektra! Your turn!"

Elektra sighed, rolled her eyes, and complied, "Well, _I_ spy, with _my_ little eye, something… beginning… with…"

"Pony!" shouted Aisha, pointing excitedly at the spectacle in front of her. As the others' eyes followed the line of her finger, they saw, about fifty metres away, a small black pony, with oddly-shaped clunky hooves, slender legs and a mane of stringy brown hairs flying wildly all around its head.

"Ah yes!" exclaimed Elaine. "Yes, it must be a, oh, what's the name, yes, it must be a wild fell pony! Yes, yes! It's native to this part of the country, although I must admit they're not usually seen in the wild like this, oh yes, children, this is _very_ exciting! I don't think you all realise what a unique experience this is!" Some of the kids were still chatting to each other; others were snapping pictures of the wild pony on their phones.

The cluster of the Dumping Ground's younger residents had become very animated at the sight of the pony in the distance.

Aisha exclaimed, "I want to stroke it!"

Rafiq and Floss turned and looked at each other. _Of course she does_ , they telepathically said to one another.

"Do it!" they said to her in unison. She looked a little unsure, now – wouldn't Elaine get cross?

"Go on – do it!" urged her brother.

"What's there to be scared of? It's just a pony," Floss reminded her.

Her mind made up, before anyone could stop her, Aisha ran across the moor and up to the docile horse, which was barely taller than she was. Noticing the developing situation, Elaine called, "Come on Aisha, don't be silly, get away from that pony!" As Aisha clumsily mounted the pony (and as Ryan whispered, "Wish _I_ could just run away like she can"), she tried again, yelling, "Aisha, _will_ you come here now! It might not be safe!"

Aisha had never ridden a horse. Not that she wanted to start _now_ – besides, she had no idea how to make a horse go, and _certainly_ no idea how to make it stop.

Nobody had informed the _horse_ of that.

It reared up on its hind legs and, possessed by a fury disproportionate to its diminutive size, sped away over the moors – not the fastest creature in the world, but fast enough to be dangerous on this uneven ground… Aisha bucked and jumped up and down on the pony's back, and Elaine cried, "AISHAAAAAAA!"

Carmen could see her already preparing the incident report in Elaine's head as she chased after the pony in all her pathetic beige glory.

* * *

"Okay, question number 17 is… what are you scared of?"

"I don't know, uh… getting to the kitchen in the morning and finding out all the Frosted Loops are gone?"

Jody sucked her teeth, growing more and more frustrated with each flippant answer. "Come _on_ , Tyler! I want to talk seriously with you, not make everything into a joke."

Tyler looked stunned for a second. Then he composed himself. "Okay, I'm sorry. Well, what are _you_ scared of, then? If you want to talk seriously…"

"To be honest… the future."

He nodded. "I get what you mean. University. That's the big one. Have you applied yet?"

"Don't know where I want to go. Don't even know if I _want_ to go. How are you supposed to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life when you're only seventeen? You?"

"I've _tried_ to apply, but I've got Mr Ashbrook a.k.a. _the worst_ senior tutor ever – he's not written my reference or anything, and the longer he leaves it, the more I worry about is this the right thing to do, you know? It _scares_ me, not knowing."

Finally they were getting somewhere. "And then even before that, we've got to do the exams to actually get _into_ uni. It's like, why has _nobody_ talked to us about this? Exams aren't until summer – why am I stressing about them _now_? Why can't I just live my life?"

"Honestly Jody, I'm not the person to talk to about destressing. I'm up to my _eyeballs_ in Media coursework, and it was due weeks ago, but I'm _so_ , _so_ busy with everything else. I try to do it at home, but then there's people screaming and shouting, and then I try to do it on the bus, but I always end up falling asleep on the bus. What am I supposed to _do_?"

And they continued, like that, for a good hour or two. Moaning about coursework, bitching about teachers, counting down the weeks until mocks, laughing until tears streamed down their cheeks. Learning things about each other: Tyler was _adamant_ that he wanted an en-suite in his university room. Jody was fine sharing. Tyler had been disappointed with his GCSE results. Jody sometimes missed her big brother Luke. Tyler still sucked his thumb sometimes, when he needed to feel comforted and retreat from the world. Jody was scared about having sex. Tyler's biggest regret was that he didn't let himself be more sensitive. Jody's was that she was _too_ sensitive. And then they fired questions without answers at each other – if their questions _did_ have answers, they certainly weren't ones they knew right now.

Jody summarised it: "I guess coping with all of this is part of growing up. But it's the growing up that scares me the most."

"There's definitely cool bits of growing up, though. Like, I can get better jobs when I'm eighteen, and drink in clubs and stuff."

"Yeah, whatever floats your boat. But growing up means… being _separated_. From you, from the Dumping Ground, from my _friends_. I don't know how much I want that."

"It's just a change. See it as a fresh start, I suppose. That's what chatting to you's made me realise: it's always time for a change."

Jody felt like she'd been stung. What was this about?!

"What?" she asked, sitting up in the hammock and facing Tyler. "What do you _mean_ , talking to me made you _realise_ that?"

"Wha-?" spluttered a confused Tyler, sitting up too.

"Do you hate talking to me?"

"Wha- No!"

"Why's it time for a change, then? Time for a change from _me_?"

"No! I just… we're going to have to be apart from each other in the future, and maybe we should start getting used to not spending as much time tog-"

"That's eleven months away, Tyler! _Eleven months_! That's nearly a whole _year_ that I wanna spend with you! Don't start spouting crap about the future, because you've got a whole lot of the present to go first."

"Okay, but-"

"And why can't we go to uni _together_?" she wailed, plaintively. "I'm sure we're looking at the same places."

"I've _told_ you we are – you _know_ that! Why can't you remember anything I tell you?" Tyler hissed.

"I forget stuff!"

"Rubbish – you just don't care!" He folded his arms in anger.

"You don't care about _me_!"

"Do too!"

"Why can't we stay together then?"

"Because I'm _okay_ with us being separated if we have to be!"

It felt like he'd slapped her in the face. Jody climbed out of the hammock. As she got out, the shifting centre of gravity made the hammock wobble. Unable to stop it, Tyler was forced out, and he flopped onto the hard mud below with a thud. As he rolled over and stood up again, he saw Jody storming off through the canopy of trees and out of this paradise.

* * *

"So, the situation is: Elaine's gone – we don't know where. Aisha's gone too – on a pony – we don't know where. Jay and Mike are gone – we _do_ know where, they're back at base, hopefully. _Sasha_ is also gone – no idea where – and Tyler and Jody have been gone for _ages_ – we also don't know where _they_ are," summarised Elektra. "All in all, guys, this is looking pretty standard for a Dumping Ground day out. _But_ it probably doesn't seem that good if you're on the outside looking in, _so_ … _hello, you_!"

Her train of thought evaporated as a fluffy black Cocker Spaniel bounded up to her. The whole group's attention was now lost in the cute, slobbering, smiling dog – which seemed, worryingly, not to be accompanied by an owner.

As the others stroked the new arrival and rained down 'hello's and 'aww's and 'isn't he cute?'s, Ryan walked up to where Carmen stood, trying to get phone signal by holding it up to the sky like an offering. "Says a lot when the most interesting part of the day is a stray dog," he muttered to her. "What a boring waste of-"

Just at that moment, he tripped over a little stone… and tumbled face-first into a pile of thick, oozing, glistening, viscous mud.

Luckily for him, the others didn't notice… but Carmen did. As Ryan got back to his feet, face dripping with mud, she dissolved into a paroxysm of laughter. Quickly, the others heard her, turned round, and started cackling at him as well. Underneath the brown, Ryan's face turned red.

Happily, the humiliation was broken up by the arrival of a man in a bright blue waterproof.

"Oh, thank god, you've found Womble!" he cried happily, reaching down to pet his dog before attaching it back onto its lead. "I've been so worried. I was sorting the boat out, when he just slipped away. Thanks ever so much for making sure he didn't run off. He's a beggar for running off."

"Oh, well I'm happy you found him," Carmen said.

"Where are you guys headed, then?" inquired the man.

"Well, we don't have our map anymore, since we don't have our map-reader anymore, but I _think_ we're just looking for the nearest lake, wherever that is. We've just done the Great Cockup walk, if that helps."

"Ah, brilliant – I'm going the same way. That's where I was parking my boat – until Womble here ran off. Let's walk together – you're only a few minutes away. Lake's beautiful this time of day."

* * *

Tyler followed Jody's route out of the tree-lined hideaway, and joined her on the island's rocky shore. They were both confronted by the same horrible sight.

The wind must have picked up whilst they'd been languishing away the hours on their hammock. Now the massive lake was ablaze with arcing white waves, pushing the screaming water in every direction! Not too high, but they were _fast_. Too fast to make the return journey an easy one. The problem was that they _couldn't_ make the return journey, even if there had been no waves at all – the boat had been washed away! It taunted the stranded islanders from a few hundred metres away, bobbing up and down, tossed by the waves.

"HOW ARE WE GONNA GET BACK?" Jody cried.

"I DON'T KNOW!" he admitted, having to raise his voice above the wind that boxed their ears and whipped around their heads. A wave slapped the shore. He turned to face her. "JODY! I'M SORRY FOR WHAT I SAID. I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTOOD. I MEANT THAT… WELL, I LOVE YOU, BUT I KNOW THAT I HAVE TO GO TO THE BEST UNI FOR ME. TO MAKE ME THE BEST PERSON I CAN BE. IF THAT'S THE SAME UNI AS YOU, GREAT, BUT IF NOT, THEN… WELL, I'VE ALWAYS GOT THE REST OF MY LIFE TO SPEND WITH YOU, I GUESS… if you'll have me, of course."

Jody ran up to him, and gave him the most furiously passionate hug they'd ever shared. She let go, and whispered into his ear, "Thank you Tyler. I love you too."

They hugged again – but both knew that they still had no route off the island, as the waves coursed savagely around them.

* * *

The depleted party of kids trudged over the last small hill on their journey to the lake.

Below the children, an enormous lake unfolded, with mountains wrapped around it. The grey, uncertain sky was mirrored in the turbulent waters – they were even whipped up into patterns of waves, which sped to and fro across the surface like flies skimming a pond. Thunder roared, reverberating in stereo around the mountains like they were in a nightmare.

"Not too sure about this thunder. Shall we turn back?" shouted Elektra to the group.

"We can't turn back now!" protested Floss. "Not when we've spent all day looking for this lake!"

"Ooh, still looking for the 'Lake Sprite', are we?" laughed Ryan, eliciting laughs from the other remaining kids.

"So what if we are?" yelled Rafiq.

"What do you mean, 'so what'? It's. Not. Real!" he cackled. "Stupid kids," he muttered. "Thinking Elaine's so cool just because she'll tell you fairy stories." Floss and Rafiq glared at him.

Just at that moment, a bolt of jagged lightning erupted from the dark cauldron of the heavens. It shot across the sky, electric. Carmen started counting the seconds between the violent thunderclaps.

It was on the lake, however, that something was happening. Waves tossed and turned every which way, getting bigger and bigger as the storm grew in size and fury, but there was something else: quite near to the shore, an isolated patch of water started to bubble.

Bird noticed it first, pointed and loudly asked, "What's _that_?!"

Everyone's attention was drawn to the bubbling lake – it seethed, and seemed to hiss, effervesce.

The water was almost _alive_.

Quickly, the group ran down the hill to the shore, eager to get a closer look at the frantic lake. The lightning _flashed_ around them, the thunder _crashed_ and _clapped_ , and the water _boiled_ and _bubbled_ in movements that seemed to be growing bigger and bigger and bigger and—

"SOMETHING'S COMING!" shouted Ryan above the din, gazing in horror at the white water.

 _HISSSSSSSSSSSSSS… HISSSSSSSS… BUBBLE BUBBLE BUBBLE BUBBLE—_

 _POP!_ A figure shot out of the water, clutching something rod-shaped in its hand. It was just a silhouette in the darkening light of the storm, but bucketloads of water cascaded off its form as it erupted upwards, dripping with icy water, loudly hissing and slobbering, a crown upon its head, looking awfully like… no, it couldn't be…

"THE LAKE SPRITE!" screamed Bird and Ryan, backing away from the shore.

In a flash, the figure's arms were held straight out in front of its body, like a mummy's, and it began to walk out of the water, each cacophonous step reverberating around, sending water streaming out – _clunk, clunk, clunk_ – Bird and Ryan couldn't take it any longer – they cowered against a rock, terror-struck by this supernatural phenomenon – the figure approached – it was coming nearer, nearer, nearer – it was nearly upon them – they could hear its gargled breathing – this was the end…

… "BOO!" shouted Elaine.

"AAH!" cried Bird and Ryan, a millisecond after, both boys jumping out of their skin. They could hear their hearts thumping in their ribcages. They lay there on the muddy sand, panting with subduing fear.

"You've been… _pranked!"_ cried Elaine jubilantly, plopping her sopping-wet costume-jewellery crown on Ryan's head.

"Wha- _what?"_ asked Bird.

"Pranked!" she repeated. "I pranked you. Or, more accurately, a few of us did. You see, back in the olden days I wasn't too highly-regarded as a social worker – I'll admit that now, with the passage of time. They said I was a bit feeble, bit inept. When I found out that Mike Milligan was in charge of Waterland, I thought this would be a great opportunity to challenge some of those preconceptions that still float around about me.

"So, I pretended, didn't I? Pretended all day to be that feeble, inept social worker I used to be. Lulling you into a false sense of security, see? Meanwhile, I was laying my plans. Jay never sprained his ankle – it was all a ruse! He and Mike snuck off, got dressed up in the _pony suit_ I brought along-" Ryan and Bird groaned. "-and took Aisha away (after some prompting from Floss and Rafiq). Then, _I_ followed Aisha – that was my getaway, so I could prepare for this bit of the prank. And what better way to get one over on some disbelieving kids, than to make them terrified of the very thing they told everyone wasn't real!"

The kids looked at each other, proud of their involvement in the scheme. Bird realised he had to see the funny side in this, and chuckled with the others. How silly it all seemed in hindsight. Ryan, however, kept his sour face on; he got onto his feet and marched up to Elaine. "Okay, but whilst you've been having your little jolly, thinking you're such a cool prankster, where do you think Tyler and Jody are?" Elaine's face fell a little. "They've been gone _all day_ , and _God_ knows where they've gone now."

"Wait!" cried Elektra. "Listen!"

The kids all kept quiet for a moment, and listened. They could hear the savage wind and the dissipating but still powerful rumbles of thunder. But then, through all nature's chaos, they discerned two voices – a boy's and a girl's – shouting out, as loud as they could, "HELP! HELP! WE'RE OVER HERE!"

Their eyes followed their ears – and suddenly they saw the desperate, waving Jody and Tyler in the middle of the lake.

"Oh my god, they're stuck on that island," realised Carmen. "Someone do something! Help them! WE'RE COMING TO HELP YOU!"

"Uh, oh god," stammered Elaine. "D-does anyone – YOU!" She turned to Womble's owner. "You were parking a boat here – where is it? Can you row it?"

"Don't be stupid!" shouted Elektra. "Not even _Steve Redgrave_ could row their way there and back in this storm!"

"Good thing it's a speedboat, then!" cried the man in the blue waterproof. "I'll do what I can!"

Scared for their friends, the kids watched as the man disappeared from sight. Soon, they heard the sounds of a mighty motor revving, and a grey speedboat sped into view like a bullet, scything through the waves to the island.

"Climb on!" shouted the man to Tyler and Jody, who stood trembling on the shore.

"Come closer!" Tyler yelled. "You're too far away!"

"I can't – I'll run aground! The motor'll stop! YOU HAVE TO JUMP!"

Without much hesitation, Jody took a small run-up – and leapt onto the back of the boat! Shivering on the shore, Tyler recoiled from the violent waves; the water was haphazardly attacking the rocks he was standing on, drenching his trousers. He couldn't make it – it was too far away! But Jody had managed, and there she was, on the boat, screaming, "YOU CAN DO IT, TYLER!"

With one look back at the hammock, lying undisturbed in the seclusion of this tranquil paradise, Tyler took a run-up, just as Jody had, and scrambled onto the speedboat.

Finally, they were rescued.

* * *

"Excuse me, everybody!" tinkled Elaine from the front of the minibus as it pulled into the front drive of Waterland House. The kids, who'd spent the surprisingly quick journey home chatting about the things they'd seen on their own individual adventures and munching on delicious Grasmere gingerbread, parcels of which they were laden down with, obediently stopped talking and focused their attention on the front.

"I just wanted to say thank you for all your efforts today – not just those of you who were involved in my little prank, but… well, _all_ of you really. It was a pleasure getting to know you and, well, I think we really had a pretty decent day after all of that moaning, didn't we?" The kids reluctantly nodded. "And maybe I'm not as 'rubbish' as I first seem, eh?" Elaine joked.

"Special thanks," she added, "to Carmen and Elektra – girls, I'm more than satisfied that you're having a wonderful time at Waterland House, and that Waterland House is better off for having _you_ – and to Sasha, for some of the best wildlife pictures I've ever seen! We won't be entering them into the competition-"

"WHY NOT?!" rasped Sasha in disbelief.

"Well Sasha, I was thinking about this: why should we submit such _high-quality_ , _professional_ , _excellently-composed_ images to a dingy competition, when you could make some real money from selling prints of it? I'll get onto Head Office to see what we can sort out, but you really do deserve to be recompensed for your sterling work today. Well done – round of applause for Sasha!"

The kids all clapped, and Sasha found herself blushing a little.

"Come on everyone, let's go inside – who's up for hot chocolate and biscuits before I go?!" cried Elaine, and suddenly in everyone's eyes she was like a rockstar. In terms of popularity, nobody on that bus would ever be eclipsed. With Mike leading the way (and clumsily faffing around fitting the key in the lock), they filed into Waterland House.

Elaine was last – and she found herself greeted by a boy wearing black head-to-toe, with jet-black hair drawn up into a loose man-bun, a few strands of which hung loose. It was safe to say he didn't have the friendliest look about him – something deceptive, calculating…

"Ah, good afternoon – you must be Demon," Elaine said, proffering a hand that the boy reluctantly shook. "I trust you had a good meeting with your social worker?"

"Uh, yeah, she's just leaving now." At that moment, Roxy, his social worker, came out into the lobby. Clad in her usual ensemble – striped black-and-white tights, a black jacket over an emo T-shirt, fair-hair ponytail given an illusion of spikiness by an explosive pink scrunchie – she hadn't changed since she'd been terrorising Elaine a decade before.

"Elaine?" said Roxy in disbelief.

" _ROXY WELLARD?!"_ cried Elaine in utter fear. All the colour draining out of her face, she turned on her heels immediately and ran, screaming, out of the house.

"Some things never change," laughed Mike.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed! If you did, feel free to leave a review - that would make me so happy! Thanks, as ever, to linneagb for their wonderful ongoing support.**

 **This episode was added quite late into the story, primarily as some light-hearted relief to break up the dark stories around it ( _Coping_ last week, and the final three episodes to come, which have a relatively dark/dramatic tone). Once I'd thought of the idea to bring back Elaine the Pain, there was no way I could say no to myself - it's my little treat to long-term Dumping Ground fans, and she was a joy to write; I hope you like how I wove her uselessness into the story! Whilst it was intended to be a light-hearted piece, Jody and Tyler's sections act as quite a neat little coda to _Coping_ , I'd like to think. Let me know what you thought of it! This story was outlined on 1 February, then written from 2-20 February, and my research this week included finding out about the various activities you can do in the Lake District and the animals that live there (the fell pony, Lake District golden eagle and [incredibly] Great Cockup hill are all real!)**

 **Here's a sneak preview for next week, which ramps the story arc up a bit in preparation for the two-part finale:  
** Winter is coming thick and fast, and despite the careworkers' best efforts to keep up the Young People's happiness and morale, all seems lost – something that isn't helped when Mike mistakenly locks everyone out of the house! Stuck in the dark together for the night, they learn some previously well-kept secrets about each other, whilst Elektra begins to pay the price for her involvement with Ryan, and Joseph becomes the victim of a cruel practical joke.  
 **Episode 11, "Fear of the Dark," is coming next Friday (29 March).**


	11. A Night in the Dark

"Rubbish trip, if I'm honest," confessed Mike, turning off the main road. He and Carmen were sat at the front of the minibus – the best place to be, at the moment.

It was like watching a zombie film: pretty scary, but at least they were comfortably removed from it all, safe at the front of the minibus. Elektra however… Elektra was in the eye of the storm, sat there with twelve kids who just didn't seem to care.

"Yeah, they're just not into it today, are they?" Carmen pushed her glasses up and sighed. "That's what I don't get. They couldn't have cared less." It was true – the kids had been completely despondent throughout the whole evening; it was like they were bored out of their brains, running on autopilot, limply letting bowling balls roll agonisingly into the gutter.

"D'you know, I'd honestly prefer if they were fighting. I can't _stand_ them all being so… so _uninterested!_ … Maybe Wednesday night wasn't the _best_ time to go bowling," Mike conceded.

"Ah, maybe. They just keep saying they want to do their homework."

" _This_ lot? _Homework?!_ " scoffed Mike.

Then, all of a sudden–

—"WATCH OUT!" Carmen yelled.

Mike swerved, just in time to avoid the tree.

"KEEP AN EYE ON THE ROAD!" Carmen shouted angrily. " _Jesus Christ_ , Mike, you gave me a fright."

"Relax, relax, you're okay now. And _we're_ …" The minibus spluttered to a stop. "…home. In one piece."

"Just about," tutted Carmen, her heart still beating like a sledgehammer beneath her skin.

Mike hopped out, clumsily slid the door open and ushered the downcast dozen out. They walked to the front door, Mike patting his pockets all the way. A confused look spread across his face – he looked like a monkey, patting his head and rubbing his tummy almost, searching for something. And then…

"Ohhh dear," he sighed, putting his head in the hands. " _Ohhhh dear oh dear_."

"Mike…? What is it?" asked Carmen.

"Oh Carmen, I've done something really, _really_ stupid. I've just remembered… When we were leaving, I might have… _accidentally_ posted the keys back through the letterbox. And the spares are inside."

Carmen's eyes widened. " _Mike_! How did you manage _that_?"

"Manage what?" inquired Elektra, barging her way past some of the kids.

"We're locked out," Mike confessed sheepishly. "And unless anyone has any bright ideas, we're going to have to spend the night in the garden."

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 11: "A Night in the Dark"**

* * *

The kids had grumpily moved to the back garden, found some blankets in the tiny shed and laid them out; now they sat on them, in their own little clusters. Everyone was sharing the same annoyance – and they all wanted to make themselves heard.

"I'm hungry!" — "There's homework in that house, and it's due for tomorrow." — "I want my laptop!" — "My phone charger's in my room – I _need_ it!" — "When can we get back in the house?" — "Am I supposed to just wear these clothes all night?" — "Is there _nowhere else_ we can go?" — "Mike, this is rubbish!" — "Mike, how do we get back in?" — "Isn't there a spare key, Mike?" — "Mike!" "Mike!" "Mike!" —

"QUIET, ALL OF YOU!" roared Mike, standing up at the front of the whining group and silencing them all in a heartbeat. He proceeded, much more calmly, but shaking a little (from the cold? from his outburst? Nobody was quite sure), "Right, you horrible lot. _Yes_ , we are, unfortunately, locked out of the house. I'll put my hands up – I made a mistake; it's my fault. _Believe me_ when I say that Carmen, Elektra and I have discussed _every_ option we can think of – and there's nothing that's gonna work. All being well, in the morning we _will_ be able to pick up a spare key from my bosses, and we'll be back in. Until then, we're going to have to do the best we can, sleeping out here. I'm really sorry guys – I know it's not ideal."

Sasha sniggered. "Yeah, you _could_ say that."

The kids went back to their chatting; Mike sat down again after his brief speech. He was sitting on a tartan rug with his fellow careworkers.

Carmen leant forward to speak privately to him; Elektra followed suit. "Brilliant. So, who's looking forward to a night outside in October?"

"Hey, I've said my piece!" asserted Mike. "The kids know how sorry I am. We're just going to have to do the best we can. You two _are_ staying, by the way, yes?"

" _What_?" spluttered Elektra. "No! We're not on the night shift; Euan is."

"I've texted Euan to tell him not to bother… well, we can't ask him to come round just to sleep in the garden!"

"Are we getting overtime then? To compensate for this horrendous mess you've got us all into?"

"Oh, I don't _know_ what you're getting!" snapped Mike. "Listen, it's going to be a difficult night _whatever_ happens, so I'm gonna need you two on side… _if_ that's not too much bother for you."

"Mike, I don't even know if _you're_ on side!" protested Carmen.

He looked taken aback. " _What?"_

"You're acting really weird lately."

"Since when?"

"I'm not sure; a few weeks now. I don't like it when you're being all strange. Look," she leant even further forward, clearly striving for the utmost confidentiality, "I know you're _not_ … but it's almost like you're drunk. That's what it looks like."

Mike's brain switched into overdrive. She _couldn't_ find out – she _couldn't_.

"And I'd hate to think that the kids would think that. Because I know you don't even like alcohol, and I know you wouldn't drink it around the kids, but… you know, it'd be terrible if they started thinking that you were. Just… whatever it is that's sending you loopy, can you try and control it a bit?"

"I'm not quite sure what you're talking about, to be honest," Mike lied. "But I'll try my best to keep… _sane_ , or whatever you want from me."

Satisfied, his colleagues leant back. Oh God, he needed a drink. Anything to take away the cold – anything to make him feel better inside. _No, fight it, Mike!_ But he couldn't. He just couldn't anymore.

* * *

Half an hour down the line, the kids were all handling things remarkably well. They'd stocked up on blankets from the shed, and were now making a den with them, under the shade of a tree. In some ways, Carmen thought, it was nice to see them all interacting – at least they were _doing_ something. Plus, given that they were all terrified of running their phone batteries flat, they were actually _talking_! To each other! Maybe this colossal mistake was actually a blessing in disguise.

At the other end of the garden, Ryan sat on the tennis court, all alone. Well, _nearly_.

Demon walked onto the court. "Not helping?" he asked.

"I'm not really one for helping," said Ryan, flashing an uneasy half-smile which harboured a flicker of malice under the surface. As Demon sat down right next to him, Ryan asked, "How're you settling in, then? What's it been, like a month since you got here?"

"Something like that. And yeah, I'm having a… _lovely_ time. Nice big room. Got the careworkers under my thumb. Working on getting the kids to… _understand_ what the dynamic is. I see _everything_ that goes on – _everyone's_ sussed out."

"Uh, not me. Nobody's sussed me out, and you're _not_ going to be the one to do it."

"Nah, I can read you like a book. A shit book," he added. "How are you?"

Ryan ignored the question. "You know, Tyler said some really cool stuff about you," he whispered, "said you were this, like, big rebellious force or whatever." Demon raised an eyebrow appreciatively. Ryan continued, "You're not living up to it… You're a bit boring really, if I'm honest, Demon. Like, good on you for trying to make the kids scared of you, but do you _really_ think it's worked? Can't really be scared of someone who collapses every time he has to talk to more than three people."

Demon tried not to show any signs of shock. Ryan sniggered. "Can't be scared of someone who hides behind their social worker."

Demon regained his composure, pushed a strand of hair out of his face and turned to Ryan, patronisingly patted him on the back. "It's alright, Ryan, that you're making mistakes like that, thinking all of you aren't in the palm of my hand. You probably haven't had much time to get to know me, in between sucking Elektra's face off every time you go bike riding."

Ryan's eyes widened. "How the fuck do you know about that?"

"Oops… Well, now I've told you what I know, Elektra'll probably lock me in the wood store, like she did with your sister… Whoops, did I just do that again? Sorry, you'll have to forgive me; I just can't help but spill the beans tonight."

The other boy was still processing what Demon had told him. "She _what_?"

Demon just raised an eyebrow in return.

"I know what your pills are for," Ryan blurted out. "Yeah, all your little bottles, lined up by your bed. I'd say I'm sorry but… well, I'm _not_."

Demon shook his head and stood up. He looked down at Ryan. "Ryan, Ryan, Ryan… you can _know_ whatever you want. _I know more_. Honestly, they should study your yellow file in GCSE English Lit. Face it – I've won the argument. And I always will."

"No! You just _don't get it_. Okay, so what if you've won the argument? I've won _the Dumping Ground_. All of them – they're all in the palm of _my_ hand. And it won't be long before it's the same story with you. If you think anything different… well, you're deluded."

Demon shook his head. "You haven't got a clue." He left the court.

 _Well, that felt good_ , they both thought to themselves.

* * *

Mike checked the time on his phone: just after 9pm. The sky was pretty much pitch-black now, but it didn't deter the kids, who'd ransacked the minibus for spare torches and were using their phones to provide the rest of the light. He looked over at them, all sat in a big circle playing some game or other – truth or dare, he thought he'd heard them say. It was so lovely to see them all together like this.

He felt better now – he'd resorted to his last-ditch solution. Having invested in refillable Coke cans, he'd pre-filled them with red wine a few days ago, and now he carried them everywhere in his bag. Perfect for staving off those pesky cravings, those moments when his throat was the kind of dry that was only cured by a good strong drink.

As he sipped some wine, feeling like the world's coolest secret agent, an alert flashed up on Mike's phone. It was a text that had just come in, and it said–

Oh no.

What could be worse than reading a text saying that a child's potential foster parents _weren't_ going to be fostering them after all? Reading that text _with the child in question reading it over your shoulder._

"What?!" said a gobsmacked Bird. "Let me read that properly!"

Mike quickly stood up to hide the phone screen, but realised it was too late. He sighed painfully. What a horrific mistake. Why oh why did he never check that nobody was behind him when he opened important texts like this?

"Well, let _me_ read it first!" he argued.

"No, it's about _me_ and Jay!"

"Ugh, fine." He passed the phone over, and Bird scanned the message. The colour drained from his face.

The boy looked up at Mike with undiluted anger in his eyes.

"Mike Milligan, you IDIOT!" he shouted.  
"What have _I_ done?!"

"Read the _TEXT_ , you stupid, STUPID man!"

Bird threw the phone back; Mike caught it and read the text.

Oh god, it was all his fault. Jay and Bird's social worker had texted to tell him that Mike's "erratic behaviour at the meeting we arranged" had "forced the Radcliffes to reconsider". _What_ erratic behaviour? Mike's mind reeled back, but he found that he had no recollection of how the meeting had gone. He hadn't been drunk, had he? Surely not... surely not.

"You've RUINED it! Our big chance, and you've mucked it all up."

Bird was glaring. A few of the kids round the circle had stopped and were staring at the unfolding argument.

"Bird, I am so, so sorry about this. I'll-"

"Mike, your JOB is to get us fostered! At the end of the day, _that's what you're supposed to DO!"_

"Bird, I promise you, I'll get on the phone to the Radcliffes first thing in-"

"Yeah, you'll get on the phone as soon as we're inside, _because you locked us out, you moron!"_

"Whats did you call meh?" Mike slurred, slightly amazed, both at Bird's vocal hatred and his own open tipsiness.

"Moron! Because that's what you _are_!" Bird had quietened down a little, but the anger was more potent than ever. "You've gone… _weird_ lately, and this is just the latest in a _long, long line_ of fuck-ups. You can ask almost _anyone_ here – we'll all tell you the same thing. Aisha was _crying_ about it the other night, because you forgot to read her her bedtime story."

Mike sighed. That news about Aisha really should have affected him more. Should he pretend to get upset? Really, he knew that he was feeling nothing – but then again, he quite enjoyed feeling nothing, he supposed.

"You're not even _listening_ , are you?" moaned Bird. "This is just gonna go _on_ and _on_ and _on_ , you making mistakes, and being… _weird_. And ruining things for me and Jay!" He marched up to Mike and looked him dead in the eye, his voice reduced to a malevolent whisper. "You'd _better_ patch things up with the Radcliffes, _first thing_ in the morning, or you don't wanna _know_ what I'm going to do to you."

Mike nodded sharply. He turned away. He couldn't take any more of this argument.

 _Maybe_ , just maybe, he had some kind of problem with alcohol. (Yeah, he liked a drink every so often, but was that a _problem_? More of a _feature_ , he thought.) But surely he could enjoy a drink and still be able to work? He just needed to get better at working after a drink. There was no harm in it, was there?

* * *

Bird returned to the circle, where Elektra was slightly over-enthusiastically powering through with the game of truth or dare, trying to distract them from Bird and Mike's loud argument.

"Okay Chloe, your turn," she announced. "Truth or dare? Who am I kidding, it'll be a truth, won't it? You're a bit too chicken for dares." She laughed under her breath.

"Oi!"

"Just a joke."

"… Truth," Chloe replied, a little more self-consciously now.

"If you could swap Ryan for anyone else in the circle, to be your brother, who would it be?"

"Oh, I don't know… uh… I don't know, _Jay_ or someone?"

Elektra sniggered a little bit. " _Jay_ , eh…" She nudged Chloe's elbow.

Chloe looked affronted. But then, suddenly, something caught her attention. "Wait, guys, _listen_!" she hissed, and they all quietened down and tried to hear whatever she'd heard. There was absolutely nothing.

"Oh yeah, I can hear that," said Elektra. "It sounds like… Chloe making stuff up to distract us."

"No, I wasn't making it up!" the girl insisted in her thick Scots brogue. "Something was rustling in the bushes. I heard it."

"I'm sure you did…" said Elektra, her eyes clearly telling the group she thought otherwise. A couple of them giggled, and Chloe turned bright red with humiliation. She wasn't going mad! She'd heard something! Oh well, it didn't matter now. "Okay," announced Elektra, "let's just move on, to spare you your blushes… Demon! Truth or dare?"

"Why do you never tell us anything about yourself?" interjected Rafiq, loudly and annoyingly.

"Yeah!" added Aisha, her obnoxious squeaky voice grating on Demon's eyes as the two kids got up in his face. "And what are the little bottles in your room for?"

" _I_ know," laughed Ryan from the other side of the circle.

"Go away, Ryan," threatened Demon. "No-one wants you here."

"Ooh, I've got a question," declared Ryan. "You never talk to us. You've got no friends here. So… if you hate us so much, why did you ask to come back here?"

"Good question," Jody said. "Why do we know _nothing_ about you?"

"Guys, it's truth _or_ dare," pointed out Elektra, trying to save her friend, "and he didn't even say which one he wanted! And _if_ it's truth, then he gets one question at a time, okay?"

"And why did you collapse on your first day?" asked Sasha. "We just want to know so we can help if it happens again," she added sweetly, disingenuously.

"Why did you go to the secure home?" asked Ryan.

"He was in the _secure_ home?" Floss baulked, recoiling a little from Demon.

"Uh, get off my case," threatened Demon, standing up and storming away down the garden. The kids watched him go. When they turned back to the circle, they noticed Ryan tucking in to popcorn.

"Um… you've got _popcorn_?" checked Chloe in bewilderment.

"Sorry, this is the only bag," he explained, pre-empting the question, merrily munching on another kernel.

"From _where_ , exactly?"

"Secret supply."

"So it's from your secret supply, but you've only got one bag?" That was the problem with Chloe. She saw right through him. "Come on, give me a bag."

"No!" protested Ryan. "I haven't got any!"

"Don't be _greedy_ , Ryan!" She grabbed at his pocket. Too late – he stood up and ran away. But he only made it a metre or so before a mound of snacks fell out from his unzipped pockets. Gotcha.

"Ugh, _Ryan_!" protested an annoyed Sasha, scooping up a packet of Maltesers (to Ryan's dismay). "We're all hungry, not just you! Don't be such a greedy pig." Ryan glared at her and Chloe, as the other kids (led admirably by Floss) scooped up the snacks.

* * *

Looking across the circle, Joseph sat wrestling with his conscience. Put simply, he had no idea what to do, no idea how to overcome the dilemma he found himself facing. There was nothing to be ashamed of, he knew that – after all, Alan Turing was gay, and he was one of the best scientists in the history of the country, if not the world! Being gay was fine – he knew that. It was just… being gay like _this_ – open, honest, _real_ – well, that felt a bit different.

But where was the harm in trying? It was just asking a boy out. What's the worst thing that could happen? He'd just say he wasn't gay, or he wasn't interested, or whatever. 'No worries', he'd probably say. Yeah, things might be awkward for a bit, but it was worth it. He knew it was worth it. Just in case it was a 'yes'.

But he didn't like to think about the best-case scenario, because he knew he'd probably be getting his hopes up for nothing.

Was it worth trying? Normally, Joseph enjoyed being stumped. If there was a scientific problem puzzling him, he relished nothing more than having the time and the freedom to solve it, work it through, find out the answer. But this wasn't a pithy science thing, this was _real life_ – something that mattered. One of the biggest things he was ever going to do in his life so far.

Aaah! Should he ask? He didn't know, so instead he just stared across at Jay, and hoped he'd give him a sign.

* * *

It was bedtime. And a fairly late one at that – well, they'd been having such a fun time with their games that Carmen and Elektra didn't want to disturb them. And as for Mike, he'd nodded off ages ago, surrounded by Coke cans and smelling of spearmint.

Elektra had felt bad about Demon getting pounced on by the kids like that, so she'd nabbed some of Ryan's chocolate and gone to look for him down the bottom of the garden. It was dark chocolate – she knew he liked that.

She'd found him fast asleep in a foetal ball on the floor of the wood store. Of course – the wood store! She hadn't thought to use it since she knew it was locked (and the key safely inside the house), but Demon had clearly kicked the door open somehow. She'd quietly crept back to the others, told them the good news, and they'd respectfully snuck into the wood store with their blankets and bedded down. It was a tight squeeze, and a few of them had to perch just outside the door, but they'd managed (just about).

Elektra, however, was cold. Because, miraculously, whilst Chloe's wheelchair ( _without_ her in it) had stolen a spot in the wood store, she – _a careworker!_ – had been left to rot, for all they cared, outside. "Oh, you can have an extra blanket to make up for it, Elektra" – bollocks. No, before everyone drifted off to bed properly, she was going to have to sort this out.

"Chloe?" she said, her voice gentle but firm.

"Yeah?" came the reply from somewhere within the wood store.

"Can I swap places with your wheelchair? I'm really cold, that's all."

"Um, _no!"_

"What?!"

"You can't put my chair outside, the spokes might rust!"

"The spokes might- _what?_ Can you _see_ rain? Can you _hear_ it? Feel it? Nope, thought not!" Her voice was getting louder – it was okay, nobody was properly asleep yet, apart from the Al Saeeds, possibly.

"Elektra, you're being selfish!"  
" _I'm_ being selfish? You're literally pushing me out into the cold on the _very tiny chance_ that it might rain! How am _I_ the selfish one?"

"If that chair rusts, I can't _move_!"

"You get carried everywhere, you prissy little princess! Do you have any _idea_ how badly I've done my back in from carrying you up the stairs every night?"

"Oh, boo hoo. So is that why you were laughing at me before? To make up for that?"

"No, I was _laughing_ at you because you were being _silly_."

"I _heard something_ , Elektra. In the bushes. I wasn't making it up."

"Girls, will you _be quiet_?" hissed Mike. "People are trying to sleep!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Elektra nonchalantly. She raised her voice again. "Hey guys, did you know Chloe's favourite show is, uh… _Looney_ Tunes?"

"You're acting like a child, Elektra. You're a grown adult. You're meant to be my carer."

"And I _am_ your carer – don't be so rude! Let me _in_!" Her fingers were starting to go red with the October chill.

"Still, you've already proved that you can't really be responsible around us, eh?"

She'd stuck a knife into Elektra's heart. "Chloe, don't. Whatever you're about to say, don't."

"What's she about to say?" asked Mike.

"Oh yeah, wake up _now_ , why don't you?"

"No, I want to know what she means."

"Don't say it!" warned Ryan's voice from out of the ether.

"Chloe, I'll stay outside, it's fine. And I'm sorry for being childish earlier."

But it was too late. Far too long Chloe had had to keep this secret, and she wasn't going to live with it any longer. She blurted out the truth – "Elektra was going out with Ryan."

"NO!" cried Ryan from the back of the wood store, powerless to do anything to stop it.

"Yeah, I know," said Mike. "On the bikes – they still do it-" It dawned on him. "Oh, no…"

"No, it wasn't like that!" shouted Ryan. "It wasn't anything bad!"

" _Ryan_ ," warned Elektra. Nobody could see anybody else; the darkness was all-pervading, all-invading. The outline of Elektra was only just visible to the others, illuminated ever so slightly by the moon. They could see her stand up.

" _Elektra_ ," said Mike firmly, stopping her in her tracks. He calmly asked her, "Is it true?" From where he lay in the wood store, stewing in his own incompetence, he looked up to the doorway and saw her solemnly nod her head.

"Can we talk in the morning?" Elektra asked. " _Please_. I'll explain everything."

"That sounds like a good idea to me," Mike said gravely. "Ryan, you too." The reality hit him once more. "Oh, Elektra, how could you do something like this? How could someone so… _promising_ do something so immoral?"

"Immoral? _Immoral?"_ scoffed Elektra, bending down to where she thought she could make out Mike's body sat up on the floor. She got close up to his face and hissed, "Don't talk to _me_ about morals when you _stink_ of alcohol."

Mike's blood was superheated in milliseconds. He just hoped nobody had heard that. To Elektra's credit, she'd probably done it quietly enough. Oh god, oh god, oh god, what a mess they'd got themselves into. What a nightmare the morning was going to be.

Elektra solemnly stumbled her way up the garden, knowing, just _knowing_ , that her career had just come to an end.

* * *

Lying there in the wood store, unable to see anything but the comforting darkness hugging him from all sides, Joseph knew it was time.

He dispelled his doubts, forgot his fears and turned onto his side. To where he knew Jay was asleep next to him. Taking a last deep breath, he tapped Jay lightly on the shoulder. No escape now.

"Jay?" he asked softly. "Are you there?"

He heard Jay stir slightly. "Yeah, _now_ I am!" came the annoyed whispered reply. " _What is it?"_

"But are you properly awake? I've got something important to tell you!"

"Yeah Joseph, I'm awake. What _is_ it?"

The boy took another deep breath. For a minute, he thought the words wouldn't come. The walls of the wood store were squeezing in on him, choking him; he was a sinner, sat in a confessional.

But he found the courage, somewhere inside, to push out his message: "It's something I've been unsure about for so long. I really didn't even know _what_ I was feeling, let alone how to express it. But as I've got to know you over the years, and as I've become more and more of your friend… well, I guess I've realised what a cool person you are, you know? You're… _funny_! You always make everyone laugh – in a good way, that is. And you're secretly smart, and talented, and you get on with everyone, and it makes _me_ want to be more like you.

"But… I don't think that's _all_ I've been feeling. …I don't know, when I see you playing football in the garden or something like that, there's this… this _spark_ that I feel inside. For the longest time, I wasn't sure what it was, or what it meant. But I think I know what it means now." Joseph was so glad that the darkness concealed Jay's reaction – for all he knew, Jay might have gone back to sleep. In some ways, the probability of that possibility helped.

"I love your voice, and your hair, and your smile! And your personality, and your confidence, and… well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that… that… … will you go out with me?"

No answer. He waited a minute, felt his words cling to the wood store's rotting ceiling and fly out through the cracks in the walls, while the feelings behind the words retreated back to their keep, deep within Joseph's heart.

With a sigh, Joseph turned back and lay down to go to sleep again.

Then the whisper came: "Joseph, it's half past midnight! And I'm flattered, but I'm not gay. _Get to bed_! See you in the morning."

And that was how Jay broke Joseph's heart.

* * *

 _Thud, thud, thud_.

Elektra's eyes snapped open at the first sound of footsteps on the hard tennis court on which she'd spent the night. The first rays of diaphanous sunlight welcomed her to the new day, filtering through the low trees to illuminate the acrylic surface in a faintly mottled pattern.

 _Thud. Thud, thud._

There was something ominous in those footsteps. Either someone in thick boots, or someone stomping with all their might. Elektra wanted to rub the sleep out of her eyes and find out who it was that was intimidating her like this, but instinct told her to stay put.

 _Thud thud thud thud._

The footsteps were getting louder and louder, closer and closer. Elektra slammed her eyes shut just in time, as the figure walked in front of where she lay. Gently opening one eye by just a fraction, she made out a pair of chunky black boots. She couldn't see any further up than that, but dared not look. My god – was that… _snarling_ that she heard? Something was slobbering; making quick, feverish, shallow breaths that reminded her of mongrels.

 _Thud thud thud thud thud. Thud thud thud thud thud._

The great stomping footsteps grew fainter, then louder again, and she felt the figure come back around. She was being circled. Never had she felt more like the helpless prey of a bigger, scarier, cleverer, more intimidating predator.

The footsteps stopped, replaced by that hideous snarl. There was something calculating in that inhuman sound, like the figure was sizing Elektra up, trying to work her out…

Elektra suddenly realised that she _had_ to get out of there.

She rolled with all her might – rolled out of the figure's path – jumped to her feet despite her lethargy – felt the harsh sun on her face – and saw – and saw…

She wasn't sure _what_ she saw.

It was a person of some description, a mass of brown fur – some kind of coat, from what Elektra could tell – it covered its whole body – some tatty jeans and those big black boots poking out from the bottom – a big stream of unkempt, tangled blonde hair – Elektra couldn't make out all of its face in the light but she could hear the snarl – could see the drool coming from its mouth, glinting in the sun as it spilled from the lips – could faintly make out a mouth packed with sharpened razor teeth – and all the time that ghastly breathing –

It pounced.

It _leapt_ across the court, all fur and hair swinging with the effort – with outstretched claws it landed on Elektra – pushed her to the warm acrylic. She smacked her head, felt the impact like a sledgehammer to the skull – instantly the survival instinct kicked in. She kicked at the figure, sure now that it was a woman. In response, the blonde woman slapped Elektra in the face, thumped her on the arm – Elektra kicked back – a furious tangle of limbs – kicking – moving – constant – desperate. Blonde and blue intertwining – Elektra could taste the fur – _was it real?_ she wondered – could smell the warm breath – suddenly a jolt of pain above her eyebrow – she could taste blood in her mouth – if only she could get up, overpower the woman –

Somewhere, far away, a boy yelled "MIIIIIIIIIIKKKKKE!" and then Demon was racing onto the court, pulling the woman off Elektra – all colour drained from his face. Elektra saw him lift her, grab her shoulders, push her backwards, halfway across the court almost – Mike stumbled up to the court – Demon was helping her up – she could feel the acidic bite of the grazes on her hands – then he found what he was looking for in his pocket – got it out – tossed something metallic to Mike – it sailed through the air and shined like hope – the snarling woman lay there breathing, snarling, regrouping – Mike looked bemused and Demon shouted a reply: "IT'S THE FRONT DOOR KEY. GET THE OTHERS. **NOW!** "

Elektra darted down the garden – as she turned her head to check she wasn't being followed, she saw Demon running round to the front of the house, pursued by the snarling figure in the brown fur thing – they ran down the drive and out onto the street, and Elektra didn't see a thing after that.

* * *

Floss stumbled lethargically into the entrance hall.

"…eleven!" counted Carmen. "That's everyone!"

Mike slammed the door shut, emphatically locked it, pushed his back against it and slid down to the floor, taking big panting breaths.

"What the _hell_ was that?!" asked a bewildered Elektra when the dust had settled.

"I don't know," confessed Mike, facing his audience of a bunch of shattered, confused kids who had no idea what had just happened. "Let's just… let's stay in here for a bit. Kids, you can have the day off school; I'm _not_ having you go outside. Get in line for a shower, go back to bed, I don't care. But _don't_ leave the house."

"What about Demon?" asked Ryan.

" _I'll_ worry about him. Go on, upstairs – _scram!"_

The band of weary children began to trudge up the stairs to fight over showers and clamber into their beds, when they all stopped in their tracks at the sound of a knock on the door. _Tap, tap, ta-tap_.

Immediately, Elektra urged, "Don't open it." Mike sprang to his feet.

"Elektra, did you _see_ that woman? She wouldn't knock politely like that," Mike reasoned.

"What if it's Demon?" said Ryan from halfway up the stairs.

Mind made up, Mike swung open the door… and a greying, suited man with a briefcase came into the house. He shook Mike's hand firmly, before asking, "Aren't you going to ask to take my coat?"

Mike was stunned. "Uh… who _are_ you?"

"Don't you remember? We spoke on the telephone. Keith Matthews, Talbot Ward Council. I'm the new head of residential care."

Ah, yes. Now that he thought about it, Mike _had_ spoken to Keith Matthews on the phone. But he'd forgotten to put it on the calendar. Forgotten to tell the others. And _completely_ forgotten that today was the day he was arriving for an introductory visit.

As he processed all of this, Mike took the gentleman's coat, placed it on the coat stand and asked, "So you're the new Fiona, then?"

"That's right. I'm here for your introductory visit, just so I can get to know you and the Young People."

"See the Young People, eh?" chirped Mike anxiously. "Decided to, to, uh, to come bright and early, then, did you, eh? Well, uh, as for the Young People, yes the Young People, uh, are… here!"

He gestured to the stairs, where his boss was met by the sight of eleven bedraggled, sleep-deprived, greasy, _smelly_ children, wearing crumpled clothes.

"Hmm…" pondered Mr Matthews. "Well, I'd thought this would just be a quick visit, but it seems I might have to make a more thorough inspection. They're a little… _tatty_ , aren't they? What's happened here?"

Complete, complicit silence all around. The kids all looked at one another, but nobody spoke. Until, perceiving that the gap in the conversation meant it was his turn, Rafiq piped up.

"Mike locked us out, so we slept in the garden all night."

A shocked silence from Mike's boss. He was clearly trying to process this startling information. He looked across to the office on his right; through the windows, he could see two opened wine bottles and an empty glass on the desk. Looking from the erratic Mike to the bottles and back again, he made the connection.

He turned to the kids. "Okay, kiddies, if you could clear out for a minute, I need a quick word with Mr Milligan."

The Young People did as they were told, and Mr Matthews looked solemnly at Mike.

"I'm sorry – you've surprised us somewhat this morning," admitted Mike. "I know you're not seeing us at our best, but-"

"Mr Milligan, I'm going to be staying here for a good hour or so, and I want to inspect _everything_ that goes on around here. What I see had _better_ be good – because it's in your interest that I report _something_ positive to the council."

"You're reporting back to the council?" checked Carmen.

"I thought you said this wasn't an inspection," added Elektra.

"It _wasn't_ ," confirmed Mike's boss, " _until_ I came through the door. As it stands, I'll be raising concerns with the council. There might even be an investigation into the running of this place. And you'd better all have a _very_ good explanation for all of this. Because, right now, I don't fancy your chances."

* * *

A few hours later, the shower had thundered down its warming jets for the final time and the house had quietened down, though there was still some considerable murmuring about who that feral woman had been, and where Demon had gone.

Jay knew exactly who was knocking at his door, and he knew that they needed to clear the air, so he calmly let Joseph in and beckoned him to sit next to him on the bed.

"So…" started Jay.

"So…"

"Do you want to talk about last night, or…?"

"Last night?" asked Joseph incredulously. "What do you mean?"

"Um, when you asked me _out_ , maybe?"

Joseph pretended to have no knowledge. "I don't know what you mean. You must have been… hallucinating or something." He reflected for a moment – NO! He'd come here to make everything okay, and make everything okay he _would_. "… I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Joseph arched his eyes. "You _know_ what. You know how sometimes your emotions get the better of you, and you say things that sound right at the time, but then afterwards you realise that… maybe it wasn't the right thing to say? Yeah… I guess that's kinda the situation I'm in now."

"I'm flattered."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's nice to know someone thinks about me like that. I don't really… _like_ boys like that; at least I don't _think_ so. So, it can't happen. But I appreciate your honesty, man. It takes a lot of guts to say what you're feeling like that."

"So it's all okay?" asked Joseph, happiness and reassurance returning to his worried mind. "Nothing's going to change between us?"

Jay looked Joseph up and down with respect in his eyes. He smiled. "Nah, we're cool. Come 'ere."

He threw his arms wide open, inviting Joseph in for a hug. They embraced, and both of them knew the air had been cleared.

Joseph left the room unable to contain his happiness. It was fine, he thought as he walked along the corridor; everything was okay. He felt so reassured that nothing would change. It didn't diminish the bravery of what he'd done, but it meant that it wouldn't be awkward to be around Jay anymore. It meant—

His left foot snagged on something – oblivious, his right foot carried on, his left lifted up – he tumbled head over heels down the stairs, smashing his shoulder on the wall and cracking his spine as he fell, forming a motionless heap at the bottom.

They could hear the thud all through the house.

Elektra rushed out onto the landing, spotted Joseph and ran to help him, with no idea what had just befallen him. As she reached the top of the stairs, her feet also caught on the invisible tripwire – with a shriek of horror as she realised (just a fraction of a second too late) what had happened, she plummeted down the stairs like a bright blue bullet, crashing to the carpet and smashing onto Joseph.

They lay there, unmoving, lifeless. Broken.

* * *

 **TO BE CONTINUED…**

* * *

 **Feel free to leave a review if you enjoyed it! This episode was outlined on 20 February and written 24 February-1 March. The two-part finale begins next Friday (5 April), and you're not even getting a sneak preview _or_ a title this time! You'll have to stick around to find out what happens...**


	12. Happy Families

_A happy family. That's the dream, isn't it?_

 _Certainly for the losers in the Dumping Ground. It's not called that for no reason – we are the dumped. The unloved. Those who didn't deserve our happy family the first time round. We are what's left when you strip a child of its parents' love – the remnants, the husk. We are case files in cabinets, annual wellbeing reports, council-funded enrichment activities. In hushed reverence, to ourselves if nobody else will listen, we speak about families – ours, others', the ones we lost and the ones we wish for. Mothers, and fathers, and lives, and loves – all closed off to us._

 _Eventually, if one day the sun melts the iceberg so we're perched above the waterline, we'll get our chance at being a happy family. Not-mums and not-dads will drip through the door, give us that up-and-down glance no true parent would, and complete the transaction. As callous and inhuman as starting a family could be._

 _But we beg for it. We settle for being paraded around like cattle, advertised in catalogues, objects slapping ourselves with fake smiles. All because we crave that hallowed, happy family. That perfect life that so rarely exists, that one beam of light in the all-pervading dark. Sometimes that light leads to the life we crave._

 _Sometimes the light's so bright it blinds us._

 _All in the name of happy families._

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 12: "Happy Families"  
** **(** _ **Tailspin**_ **, Part 1)**

* * *

Mike loosely held the knife, chopping up a carrot with a quitter's nonchalance. His tired red eyes flicked to the wall clock. 12:35. Still cutting, he focused on the second hand as it ached towards the minute. Commanding his attention like a hypnotist's watch, slowly… slowly… slowly…

"AAH!" cried Mike, taking a sharp breath in, his face creasing into a wince.

"KIDS?" he shouted over the kitchen's tumult, keeping his eyes defiantly to the ceiling. " _ANYONE?_ SOME HELP, PLEASE!"

All around him, the kids were causing havoc. He really shouldn't have let them have the day off school – one of them playing truant by themselves was chaos enough, let alone eleven. But what _could_ he have done? They'd been frightened half to _death_ by that vicious woman – and they couldn't have gone to school straight after a night in the garden. No, it wasn't right.

But now he was regretting it, as Rafiq screamed at Floss and Sasha yelled at Chloe and Aisha yelled at _him_ and it was all noise and pandemonium and confusion.

His eye fixed on Ryan, who stood on a chair shouting at Jody: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DON'T-"

"- _RYAN_!" Mike bellowed, stopping him in a heartbeat. Guiltily, Ryan got down from the chair, whilst Jody receded into the background. "Come here, would you? Take a look at this."

Ryan forged a path through the squabbling, and then peered at Mike's outstretched finger. "It's just a little graze – don't be such a big baby!" There was the tiniest amount of blood trickling from a small cut.

From out of nowhere, the greying, suited man assaulted Mike's personal space, hovering around him like a wasp.

"Mr Milligan," he began nasally, eyeing his finger, "I hope that's nothing serious."

"Ah, Keith, no, it's fine – just a little graze."

" _Mr Matthews_ , if you don't mind – and I hope you're going to fill in an accident form."

"It's _just_ a _graze_."

They all heard the front door slam; it shook the house, and reverberated around Mike's head like a warning.

"And now you're letting _anybody_ in and out," remarked Mr Matthews, scribbling furiously on a clipboard. "To say I'm _amazed_ …" He addressed the dishevelled boy in black. "Young man, do you have permission to just wander in like this?"

Demon dismissively looked him up and down. "Excuse you, I _live_ here."

Mr Matthews gave a short, disapproving chuckle. In unison, Mike, Ryan and Demon turned to him with disgust on their faces.

"We're a little busy here," said Mike, almost protectively.

"Yes, I can see that," retorted his boss. "Busy _flouting_ regulations, busy _mistreating_ -"

Demon snapped, "He _said_ we're _busy_." At the same time, from Ryan: " _Come back another time_!"

Sensing the tone of the room, Mr Matthews 'hmm'ed under his breath, turned and left.

"Mike. We're talking," urged Demon.

Mike turned to Ryan, requested "Keep an eye on lunch, will you?", smiled apologetically and left the room with Demon.

They veered into the quiet room; Demon looked straight into Mike's eyes, checking for his complete comprehension.

"Mike, I'm leaving for a few days. That means I'm not going to be staying here for the next couple of nights, okay? Do you understand?" Mike nodded gormlessly. "So you won't have to make any veggie meals for me and you don't need to worry about my medication, okay?" Mike nodded again, like a dumbstruck child listening to a parent laying down the law. "There's no point arguing, because I'm going to do this, whatever you say. I'll be back before you know it."

Mike nodded a final time. "Don't do anything stupid."

Demon smiled back. "I promise. One last thing:" he fixed Mike with a steely stare. "I _know_ it makes you feel better, and I _know_ you think you can't manage without it, but _please_ have a day off from the alcohol."

Mike gasped; he was visibly shocked. " _How do you know about that?"_

"Because you're not hiding it anywhere _near_ as well as you think you are. See you soon."

* * *

"Joseph?" He could hear the voice, coming from somewhere, flitting around in the periphery of his consciousness. "Joseph?" Slowly, he let his eyes begin to flutter open, casting off his sleep. Warm October sunlight streamed onto his face, gently welcoming him back into the world, and all he could smell was an almost sickly antibacterial scent.

" _Joseph_." The voice came louder and sharper this time; Joseph's eyes snapped open and he did his best to sit up on the thin mattress. He looked around at the clinical white ward, floored with vinyl and lined with beds, and felt assaulted by the memory of what had happened. Tripping all the way down those stairs; Carmen ringing an ambulance; the blackout; the pain. He winced, rubbed the back of his neck where it screamed out its pain.

"Oh, thank God, I thought you were in a _coma_ or something," came the voice again. Joseph looked to his left, and saw Elektra sat up in her adjacent bed, clad in an identical blue tunic and looking relieved to see he was okay.

"Just a nap," he assured her. "It's all fine, I'm okay."

"I don't know about _that_ – you took quite a tumble."

Joseph smirked. "I can't believe we were both so clumsy."

"No, didn't someone tell you? There was a tripwire, or something like that. Somebody set us up."

The boy processed this. "Oh… what did we do to deserve that?"

"Not sure. Sorry for falling onto you, by the way."

"It's all right – you couldn't really help it."

Elektra smiled; her back was burning, all down her spine, but she didn't want to show the weakness. "Anyway, look lively; Carmen's coming."

They waited a minute or two until the double-doors swung open and Carmen breezed in, brandishing a bottle of water and a to-go coffee.

"Hi, guys," she said, passing the water to Joseph and pulling up a chair between the two beds. "This is gonna have to be a quick one, because Mike's… _being Mike_ , but I wanted to come and see how you both were, check everything's alright, so… Joseph?"

"I'm not _too_ bad, thank you."

"That's good to hear," Carmen smiled. "Have the doctors said anything about when you'll be out?"

"They're keeping us overnight and they'll probably let us go tomorrow morning," Elektra declared.

Her chair still angled towards Joseph, so she could barely see her colleague, Carmen retorted, in a voice brimming with put-on sweetness, "I was asking Joseph."

"Well he's been _asleep_ ," snapped Elektra.

"Elektra, we need to talk."

"Well _look at me, then_!"

Joseph looked awkwardly away, desperate to be somewhere else from this drama. With a sense of unease, Carmen turned to face Elektra; her chair scraped along the floor.

"Elektra, you know what I need to ask you. We're both professionals, I mean _I_ know you didn't do it; _you_ know you didn't do it – but we have to stick to the policy. So yes, there _will_ be an investigation, and you'll have to stay off work for a few weeks, but we'll get it all sorted out and you'll be back in no time, okay? I promise. _But_ it's also in the policy that I have to interview you, so…"

"You're going to do it _now_?" spluttered Elektra. "Bit odd circumstances, isn't it?"

"At this stage, it's as simple as getting a 'yes' or a 'no' from you. So, for the purposes of the investigation… is it true? What Chloe's alleged, about you being in a relationship with Ryan?"

Elektra was ready to give a quick 'no'. Well, she had to, hadn't she? There was so much riding on this – her job, her reputation. But somehow she couldn't make that word come out. "I…"

"Elektra?" Carmen leaned forward.

And suddenly, Elektra felt it: this was the moment. Weeks of tension and paranoia; of monitoring Chloe like a hawk to make sure she didn't squeal; of crying herself to sleep; of bemoaning her own stupidity whilst selfishly trying to cling onto her job: and it had all come to this moment, here, now, with her spine screaming like someone was carving it up, her brain aching with the monumental effort of just _being_. Elektra hadn't even realised she was crying, but when the first salty tears trickled down to her lips ( _those_ lips, the ones that had started this whole fucking chain), she knew they were a sign. A damning indictment, if nothing else – her guilt made visible to the world. She sighed. The game was up.

"Yes. It's true."

Carmen's mouth dropped open. _Oh my God_ , thought Elektra, _she really hadn't been expecting this._ Her friend took a little while to understand what she was hearing, and then let out a stunned, "Elektra-"

"I didn't think it was anything bad at the time, honestly, I swear. And it was _fully_ consensual – Ryan was completely up for it-"

"' _Up for it'_? Do you have any _idea_ how you sound?"

Elektra could sense the disgust in Carmen's every word. "But-"

" _NO_!" shrieked Carmen, and it was almost like an animal's howl. "There _are_ no buts here, Elektra: were you in a relationship with Ryan?" Elektra gave a tiny nod of affirmation; Carmen leant forward, unsatisfied. " _Were you in a relationship with Ryan?_ "

"… Yes."

"You're fired."

" _What?_ You can't _do_ that – only Mike can do that!"

" _Elektra_! Be quiet, and listen to me for once in your life," yelled Carmen, standing over the bed. "You're a lovely person, and you're doing well at this job – but if you're in a relationship with a child in your care, not only is that _disgusting_ , but it's illegal. And there's _no way_ you can come back to work. I'll be talking to Ryan and together we'll decide whether to launch an investigation."

Elektra was glad she'd already been crying before this, as a fresh onslaught of tears coursed down her cheeks. The game was over, she supposed – she'd made everything fall apart.

* * *

Carmen entered Waterland House and locked the door behind her. The extra lock that she'd found was lying on the carpet, still not fitted.

Aisha and Floss rushed up to her. "Can you make lunch?" Aisha pleaded. "Yeah, we're _starving_ ," added Floss.

"Wha- _lunch_? Why haven't you had lunch yet? Girls, it's four o'clock."

"Yeah, we _know_ ," Floss vented in an exasperated way. "And Mike hasn't made it."

"Is he okay?" Carmen asked, throwing her coat onto the stand and marching across the entrance hall with the girls in tow. "Where is he? And why's it so _warm_ in here? It's like a sauna."

"Watch out for broken glass!" shouted Floss as Carmen reached the doorway to the kitchen.

The careworker sighed. "What do you mean?"

"Mike smashed a glass," Aisha explained. "He was all shakey, so we thought that meant he was cold, so Jody turned all the radiators on. Then he said he needed some rest."

"Is that where he is _now_? In bed?" Carmen asked, disbelievingly. "And he's not arranged any cover or anything?" This was chaos.

The girls nodded, Carmen thought a little sadly. "Right," she instructed. "I'll talk to Mike, and we'll have some food ready in fifteen minutes or so, okay?"

Aisha and Floss dissipated into the living room, whilst Carmen turned the other way and stormed up the stairs, carried by her bubbling rage all the way to the staff room door. Not pausing to knock, she burst in.

The first thing she noticed was the mess. There were clothes, books, an upturned drawer, empty blister packs of pills, assorted bus tickets and all kinds of other bits and pieces strewn around the floor. A bomb had gone off in the room – and it smelt, too, of air-freshener masking squalor. Lying in the middle of the chaos was Mike – dripping with sweat, his T-shirt wet, sitting bolt-upright in the bed with bags under his eyes like hammocks.

"Fiona?" he asked in a cracked whisper, squinting to see Carmen.

In that moment, her rage evaporated into the air. What she was seeing in front of her wasn't a troublemaker, not an off-the-rails alcoholic either – it was her confused, upset friend who didn't know how best to process the loss of the love of his life.

"Mike, it's me, Carmen." She sat on the end of the bed. "You really should have arranged cover if you knew you were ill."

"I know, I know," said Mike, beads of sweat dripping from his nose onto the sheets. "I haven't been thinking straight lately. Oh Carmen… I can't sleep. Every night, I try _so_ , so hard, but it's like there's this block, and I'm up all night, and every little sound is keeping me awake."

"It's alcohol withdrawal, isn't it?" Carmen asked sadly.

" _Who says it's that?_ " Mike snapped, then immediately recoiled from himself. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Yes… yes, I've given up drinking. I don't know how much you know about this, but I was actually… quite _liberal_ with alcohol these past few weeks. Got a bit of a taste for it, I suppose."

"Was today a wake-up call, at all?"

"Yeah, yeah exactly. I thought I'd be able to manage the situation better if I was sober. I haven't touched a drop all day, but I'm… not exactly feeling the _better_ for it."

Carmen leant towards him. "Okay, Mike, I want you to understand me. You aren't handling your emotions very well at the moment, and it's setting a terrible example to the kids, if nothing else. So… I'm ordering you off work. You need to get off the alcohol, have a good cry about Fiona, and come back when you're ready."

"I'm ready _now_ ," he asserted, puffing up his chest slightly, sitting up a little more.

"No you're not. Look at you. We can _all_ tell what you're going through."

"I've kept it _very_ well-hidden!"

"No, you haven't."

"The kids _need_ me!"

"No, they don't."

"I'm _not going_! You can't make me go. You're not in charge."

" _Well who_ is?" Carmen retorted. "It's certainly not you."

Mike pushed the covers away. "HOW _DARE_ YOU?" he shouted.

Instinctively, in the blink of an eye, Carmen slapped him across the cheek. She felt her palm smack into his face, felt the instant regret as he clutched the quickly reddening welt. She felt like she could cry. What the hell had she just done?

"Go home, Mike," she whispered softly.

* * *

His black leather jacket slung over his shoulder, Demon breezed into the park. Cyclists whooshed past, and he hastily sidestepped to let them through. Birds chirped mellifluously in every tree, and the sun beat down encouragingly warmly for the time of year. The morning was full of bustle and life; but to Demon, it was full of anticipation.

For the first time in a good many years, he had no idea how this was going to play out. Normally, he held all the cards, but when such a volatile new player joined the game, he didn't even know if he was playing with the right deck.

No, not cards, he thought as he powered through the park like a vicious black twister. Chess. That was an analogy much more befitting the woman he'd come to meet – a game built on strategy, and cunning, and traps, and sending the pawns out first to protect what mattered.

Because she _was_ clever, despite what everybody said – Mike, Roxy, the doctors from the institution. Before she'd gone to hospital, she'd been so, so bright (or at least, those were his remembrances of her – he used to think she knew _everything_ there was to know). But then, as life so often does, it threw a spanner in the works. A spanner in her brain.

Dad's work had gone up in smoke, and Dad with it. That had been the beginning of the end, as far as her mind was concerned – from then, she'd been on the direct line to mental supernova. Evenings upon evenings of unbroken weeping, of no dinner, of invented bedtime stories fuelled by anger and filled with arson. The denial, then the complete inability to be consoled, then the rage. Oh god, the rage. That was a time that he didn't even want to think about.

She'd dragged the family along with her. Siren had borne the brunt of the rage, being the eldest, and he'd been powerless to stop it, unable to be the protective brother he knew he should be, because he was so scared of being next on her list of targets.

It looked like he'd reached the number one spot now.

He slithered along a serpentine path, and there she was, standing underneath a willow, greeting him with a trademark malicious smile. Her blonde hair fell, scraggly and unkempt, in tangles from her scalp, and she still wore her disgusting brown fur coat. Demon noticed she now had a cocaine septum, but her eyes were the same as ever: emerald as his, bright with evil.

"You're not meant to be out of the asylum," he said bluntly, striding up to her and defiantly planting his Doc Marten heels in the grass.

"What, that's it? Straight to business?" asked the woman, in a psychotic simper that had always unnerved him. "No pleasantries? Not even a 'hello again'? It's been so long, Demon."

"You're insane, April. I mean, you're _literally_ insane. So _no_ , I don't have a 'hello again' for you. Be honoured I've made the time to see you."

"Oooh, I'm 'April' now, am I? Whatever happened to 'Mum'?"

"Well, exactly." He raised an eyebrow. "So come on then, how did you get out?"

"I put on my best show," April pouted, striking some mock showgirl poses. "Got all dressed up all nicely, and…" Now she dropped to a whisper. " _pretended everything was okay in my head._ It isn't _really_ , though. No, it's all an act, aaaallllll an act."

"Why are you here?"

She paused for a moment, as if sensing something, then leapt into the air and smacked her hands together, catching and killing a fly between them. Then she turned back to Demon, looked confused by why he was staring at her. "Oh, you want an _answer_? I'm not telling you _that_ just yet, no, no, no! Right _now_ , I'm here to find something for lunch. A field mouse, something like that."

"I knew it. You're insane. You're a danger to society, you're a danger to _me_ , and I don't want you to come looking for me again, okay? I've got a pretty decent life at the moment – you are _not_ coming in and ruining that."

She patronisingly simpered, " _Yes, dear_." But then, before he could even register it, she'd grabbed him – twisted his arm – got him into a headlock with a small dagger to his throat. Now her voice was grating – almost electronic in its monotone harshness. "Yes, I _am_ insane, but I'm not mad. We'll meet again, and if I _want_ to ruin your life, I can and I will. _Okay?_ "

"I'm not scared of you anymore," Demon spat at her, the dagger on his voicebox compressing his speech into a gargle.

" _Good boy_ ," she whispered, her mouth hovering directly above his ear. She stuck her tongue out, licked the inside of his ear, then let him go, spinning him like a boomerang.

Demon picked up his jacket, pulled it on and walked back down the winding path.

"Demon?" his mum called.

"Yeah?" He didn't turn around.

"You look so grown up."

* * *

It was 12pm but it felt like 5 at least, undoubtedly the single longest day of Carmen's life. Bills, queries, playing, tidying, cleaning – constantly to a soundtrack of "Where's Mike?"s. Now she was perched above Mike's desk, scanning the diary to make sure all the appointments were in there, comparing it to a printed list that she'd already lost twice and had to re-print.

Chloe came in. "Hi, Carmen. Uh, where's Mike?" she smiled.

Carmen wasn't in the mood for this. "Not here," was all she replied.

"Okay, well, um… can _you_ take me to the dentist, then? It's in about 45 minutes."

" _What_? No, no, no, no, no – you don't have the dentist today, Chloe."

"…Yeah, I do."

"But it's – it's not in the _diary_. What-"

"Oh yeah, it's just for a filling – Mike said he was gonna put it in the diary."

"Okay, well…" Carmen mentally juggled seventeen different priorities. "Yeah, go on, I'll take you. But _be ready on time_."

"Great – thanks." Chloe left the office.

Carmen could definitely feel a migraine coming on, as well as pins and needles. She stood up from her hunched position, stretched a leg out to prevent the pain… and immediately kicked over the bin.

She got down into a kneeling position next to the bin, enduring the pain in her back and her knees and her head and her everything, and started picking up the crumpled-up sheets of paper and collecting the discarded staples and bits of eraser into neat piles.

The next complaint came. She could almost sense it in the air beforehand. Jay skulked in and moaned, "Toilet's blocked. Can you sort it out?"

Carmen ran a hand through her hair, making it unintentionally frizzy. "Uh… oh god, Jay, I don't even know _how_ to unblock a toilet. Mike normally does it. Use the spare if you need to; I'll sort it out after lunch. Actually, that reminds me – can you cut some bread for lunch? Thanks."

She turned back to the bin, furiously and fastidiously picking tiny specks of dirt off the carpet. Carmen glanced into the bin; her eye was caught by some paperwork printed on very official-looking Talbot Ward Council-headed notepaper. Well, _that_ clearly wasn't meant to be in the bin! Quickly, she filtered through the various pieces of paper, fishing out the ones that seemed important and placing them on the desk.

As soon as she'd done that, she saw the Post-It note in the corner of the desk – in Mike's handwriting, next to a tick-box that had already been ticked, was the instruction: 'Bin document photocopies from Council'.

Urrrrrgggghhhh!

She chucked the sheets back into the bin, just as Jay stomped in. "There's no bread."

"There _is_! I only bought it yesterday."

"Oh yeah… uh, we used it all for toast yesterday because Mike didn't make lunch."

"Brilliant, Jay. _Just_ … brilliant."

She breathed out, trying to reassert some calm. Then she took Jay by the shoulders and pushed him out of the office and across the entrance hall. "Right, come on, let's go, you can help me sort out lunch, come on!"

She was ushering him across the carpet – but suddenly he was on the floor, smacking his skull on the carpet, clutching his head.

"AAAAHH!" he winced, as tears sprang into his eyes.

"What happened?!" asked Carmen in alarm. She hadn't pushed him, had she?

"Tripped on that wire," Jay said, gesturing to the cable of the hoover that had just been left unattended in the hallway.

"Uh… _right_ …" She panicked, tried to cope with this extra ball that she had to juggle. "Right, if you're okay to walk, or _limp_ or whatever, there's a First Aid kit in the quiet room."

"What am I supposed to _do_?"

"Get a plaster? I don't know. DON'T BE A BABY, JAY."

Feeling the seething, red-hot rage that formed a blanket all around her, she stepped over Jay and jogged into the kitchen – where a disaster awaited her. She'd put the soup on before she moved into the office, but everything had just got on top of much, crises piling up one after another, adding to her impossible juggling act… and now the soup was boiling over, trickling in a sticky orange river down to the floor.

Carmen rushed to the hob and turned the heat off. Turning back to face the way she'd come, she could see the trail of devastation she'd left. She looked at the clock. Not even five past twelve.

There was no _way_ she could deal with all of this on her own. No, it was time to call in some backup – and she knew exactly who'd be _perfect_ for the job.

* * *

Her blue leather jacket slung over her shoulder, Elektra skulked home. The trees that lined the street were suffocating her. The paving slabs were waiting to open up and trap her in the fiery pit beneath. The birds were circling, ready for the signal to swoop down and pick at her like carrion.

How quickly Carmen had turned on her, she thought. A single word had ripped apart an entire friendship. Would she ever see Carmen again? The past eight or so months had been so special to her, and the chance to rebuild a friendship with Carmen (and to discover so many new facets to her) was one that she loved grasping every day. Now – nothing. She meant nothing to her.

Not to say she didn't deserve it. This, and everything else that was coming to her. Let them sit her in front of a tribunal, let them pick her apart limb from limb and send her out into the wilderness. It was the least she deserved.

Ryan. That was a name she didn't even want to hear again. Poor boy.

Elektra's only hope now was that he could get over this. That he could move on.

She opened the door, kicked off her shoes, had only one thing on her mind: a mission. Something she knew she _had_ to do. Rounding into the living room, there she was, sitting on the sofa writing a uni essay on her old laptop: Sula.

Beautiful, wonderful Sula. Sula with her luscious skin and delectable lips and quirky Afro, her cheeky smiles and philosophy and drive. Sula with her passions and desires and dislikes and memories. Sula who brightened every morning and enlivened every night. Sula who made the whole world mean something.

A clumsy kiss, a quick catchup; then, it was time.

"Sula… I've… been fired."

Her girlfriend's eyes bulged. " _No_! Why? I thought you said you were starting to really crack it."

Oh god. Here goes nothing. She took her hand. "Sula… I have something _awful_ to admit. You're… you're within your rights to just _leave_ me, straightaway, after I've told you this, or if you're willing to listen a bit more, then we'll try to sort something out for the future. Okay?"

Sula nodded. And Elektra told her tale.

* * *

"Someone's at the door!" shouted Jody the next morning.

Carmen's face appeared at the top of the stairs. "It's the relief careworkers!" she smiled, ready for the glorious prospect of a day where she wouldn't be on her own. "Go on, let them in!"

She bounded down the stairs, as Jody opened the door and smiled at the new arrivals as they came in.

"Hi, Mo!" Jody smiled, wrapping him up in a brief hug. Mo had come dressed as the 1940s – white shirt with pink stripes, scratchy brown jumper, slicked-back hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

"Thank you so much for coming, guys," said Carmen, as Johnny followed Mo into the entrance hall of Waterland House.

"It's so cool to see this whole careworker thing coming true," smiled Johnny, looking around. "This was just a _dream_ back at the start of the year, and now look."

"Yeah, well, it's been a bit of a bumpy ride lately, but I'm so glad to have you all here. Valentina, thank you so much – I know you must be busy, but it's only for a few days until I can organise something more long-term."

"Oh, it's my pleasure, darling," enthused Valentina Lovejoy (off the telly), all flowing locks and floral print, who'd stepped in as Waterland's temporary chef.

"Right, well, if you want to take your coats off and everything, we'll get the coffees on and discuss… well, _everything_. There's a _lot_ to get you up to speed on." Carmen laughed slightly at how much she had understated the past few days' events.

But here was a solution, and that was what mattered.

* * *

Carmen checked her watch again. 11:36. He was late, but she'd come to expect that of him.

Eventually, the knock came, and she sprung up from the battered entrance hall sofa to let him in.

She swung the door open and looked him up and down: he'd clearly made the effort, clad in a formal Paul Smith shirt and posh trousers, but they were crumpled and scruffy, and the noisome alcohol on his breath reminded Carmen that she had made the right decision.

"You know the rules, Mike. An hour, _maximum_ , to pack your things. Try not to talk _too much_ to the kids… I'm really sorry it has to be like this."

"It's okay," Mike smiled apologetically, following her into the uncharacteristically quiet and tidy entrance hall. "Well, you seem like you're coping _marvellously_ , Carmen. I'm proud of you."

They shared a friendly smile, and Mike began the walk to the staff room.

* * *

Half an hour or so later, Mike stood in that staff room, looking around at its walls plastered with photographs and souvenirs and drawings from the kids and memories, and realised he was terrified for the future.

Because, after all, what _was_ he without these kids, without this job, without the Dumping Ground? He was its permanent resident, doing his best to care for the kids who passed through its doors but never leaving himself. No, he could _never_ leave this job voluntarily – it had been all he'd known for the past three decades. Without his work, he was… well, very little, he had to confess. He had no idea what was going to happen to him. Would Carmen report him? Would Mr Matthews' investigation incriminate him? Would Waterland even be able to continue? Carmen certainly couldn't run it herself, not with her level of experience.

Argh, how could this happen to _him_? He was one of the good guys – one of the _very few_ good guys. The kids needed him – no, the kids _deserved_ him – and he couldn't let them down because of his own troubles getting in the way. He hadn't signed up for a Social Work qualification because he wanted to put _himself_ first. And now he knew that he wouldn't be leaving Waterland House behind until the four walls of that staff room were _covered_ with memories. And if that meant taking this little break, some time to rest and regroup, then so be it. He would come out of it a better man.

His mind made up, his bag packed, he opened the door of the staff room.

And found an empty wine bottle just outside the room.

Immediately alarmed, then curious, he picked the bottle up and examined the label – it was one he remembered from the other night, when he'd lost his nerve and had to retreat into the staff room for support.

He looked along the corridor and saw two more wine bottles, laid out a metre or two apart like a treasure trail.

"OI!" he shouted, getting the attention of several of the kids, who popped their heads out of their rooms and moved out onto the corridor to see what was up. "What's the meaning of this?" Mike asked, holding the bottle up. "Who's been leaving _these_ around?"

"It's like a treasure trail," Tyler noted. "Go on, follow it, then!"

Mike looked confused, but did as Tyler asked, and moved along the corridor, following the trail down the stairs, passing empty wine bottles and old beer cans and discarded cider bottles. All the while, five or six kids followed him, down the stairs, across the entrance hall, round a corner and to…

Aisha beat Mike to the door of the office. She enthusiastically pushed it open, and the ultimate spectacle was revealed.

Mike's desk had been turned into a _museum_. A shrine of sorts, or possibly a junkheap. Beer can upon beer can upon beer can, rubbing shoulders with wine bottle after wine bottle, all empty, all fighting for space on the crammed desktop. A veritable catalogue of woes – and, propped up against the front row of bottles, glossy printed Polaroids that Mike instantly recognised: it was _him_ , drinking when he should have been working, drinking in the staff room (the picture taken through a crack in the door), drinking out of Coke cans, drinking anything he could get his hands on. This wasn't a museum, this was a _case file_. One that the kids were seeing. Oh god, the _kids_!

" _Alright, let's get out now_!" shouted Mike, shooing the kids away, knowing full well that it was too late, that the game was up and the secret blown out into the open. As he pushed them back, Carmen surged into the room, banging the door shut behind her.

She saw the alcohol. "What the _hell_ is going on here?" she asked, rushing to the desk. "Do you think this is funny?"  
"It wasn't me – I've been packing my stuff!" asserted Mike.

Carmen looked at him slightly disbelievingly. "And what does _this_ mean?"

She was gesturing to a sheet of paper that Mike hadn't noticed it before; it was perched on top of a foundation of lager cans, emblazoned with a single typed word: "MINE".

"I have no idea."

"Acronym maybe? Or is it 'Mine' as in, 'it belongs to me'? Is somebody saying this stuff is _theirs_?"

"It's not, though; it's _mine_."

At that point, Mike's eye chanced upon the top drawer of the desk, which lay just slightly open. There was something in there, something flat and white. He opened the drawer, produced the item and laid it out on the table.

"A map," he remarked. "Is it yours?"

"No, I haven't… seen it before. Why's that bit been circled?"

"It's near here, isn't it?" Mike and Carmen, in sync, both leaned in and squinted at the intricate details of the cartography. Surrounding the red circled area were places they both knew well, but _inside_ the circle there was only one landmark named.

"Bulingdon Mine," read Carmen.

"Mine," noticed Mike. "Something to do with the mine. Is there anything else in the drawer?"

Carmen fished about in the drawer and came out with a small piece of paper; something was handwritten on it, in the same red pen as the one that had encircled the mine. "Oh my god, Mike… oh god. 'I'm going to the mine. Keep me alive'. You don't think that means…"

"Give me that," demanded Mike. He scanned the note. "That's Demon's handwriting," he realised. "And yes, I'm thinking _exactly_ what you're thinking."

"You think he's going to…"

"Possibly. Stay here, keep guarding the fort. Don't open the door unless you've checked through the spyhole first. I'll text you."

He grabbed his coat, ran out of the office with his bag, and vanished from view. There was a life at stake.

* * *

Text from Elektra: _Meet me outside. Now._

* * *

Text from Carmen: _Out in 5._

* * *

Carmen walked round to the side of the house. "Okay, why are you here? Because if you want to pack your things, we have to arrange a date beforehand. You _know_ that's how it works."

"I think you know why I'm here," said Elektra, skipping all formalities and pleasantries. "Where is he?"

"Elektra, you are _not_ seeing Ryan," Carmen retorted defensively.

"Not Ryan – _Demon_. He's sent some texts and I'm worried. He said you'd know where he was, so _where_ _is he_?" She stepped menacingly towards Carmen, but the other woman stood her ground.

"I'm not telling you that."

"Yes you _are_ , I'm his _friend_."

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Carmen replied defiantly. Elektra was struck by how _cold_ her voice was.

She ramped up the aggression. "Tell me where he's gone, or I'll _make_ you tell me."

"I'm not going to give in to aggression."

"You're not _giving in_ to anything – you're just doing what's best for Demon."

"Do you really see it like that? Do you _really_ think that anything you do is 'doing what's best' for the kids?"

"Get off my case, Carmen. You _know_ , deep down, that I'm not that kind of person. You _know_ it was one stupid, catastrophic mistake that I'd never make again. And you know that if anybody's going to sort out this situation with Demon, it's me."

Carmen wasn't so sure about that last part, but Elektra's rhetoric did make some valid points…

She sighed and looked Elektra in the eye. "Bulingdon Mine. Mike's there already."

"Thank you so much," Elektra smiled appreciatively.

Just as she turned and walked down the driveway, Carmen called "Good luck!"

* * *

Johnny looked around the spacious, homely living room of Waterland House and knew that everything was going to be alright.

A group of lively older kids were watching the beginnings of a football match on the telly, enthusiastically cheering on their team. Mo had been co-opted into joining Rafiq's table football team, and they were happily playing against Aisha and Floss. Sasha was nestled like a contented cat in a comfy scarlet armchair, knitting away at the speed of light and enjoying the repetitive clicking of the needles. Bird had his headphones in, transported to another world by the music. Valentina sashayed around, handing out cups of orange squash. It was the perfect Saturday afternoon scene.

He'd just finished doing the dishes from lunchtime. At first it had been plain sailing – Valentina had made a delicious salad and some savoury pancakes that went down a treat – but things started to sour when the kids began asking where Mike, Demon and Elektra had all gone. Once one started, it was like an avalanche, getting angrier and angrier, question piling up upon question. They asked if Elektra had been sacked, if _Mike_ had been sacked, if Demon was ever coming back…

And then their attentions turned to Joseph, who was due back tomorrow. What had actually happened to him? How injured was he? Who put that tripwire on the landing for him to trip over? Was it one of them? Was it homophobic? Then, instead of questions, it was accusations: a litany of "I bet _you_ did it"s and "well you've _never_ liked Joseph"s and "I bet _he_ did it"s, until everyone was a suspect and the air was thick with enmity. In the end, Mo had stuck some pancake up his nose and distracted everyone.

But now, with the questions answered (as best as the careworkers _could_ answer them), everything was calm. Everything was under control. Everything was, dare he say it, running like clockwork.

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" he called, and wandered to the front door. Looking through the spyhole, he saw that a package had been left on the doorstep. He was immediately a little suspicious that the deliverer seemed to have disappeared, but it had the right address stamped on the top, so there was probably nothing to worry about.

He swung the door open and bent down to pick up the package.

At that moment, the attack began.

An arm hooked itself around his neck – brought his head up – he was in a choke-hold – he noticed the arm was in a shaggy brown coat – he had a horrible feeling that he knew who this was.

She let him go, spun him away, like the assault had just been a warning. Instinctively, Johnny raced to the door and slammed it shut; he stood between it and the blonde woman whose eyes glinted with evil in the sunlight.

"I know who you are," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady, despite all that he'd been through. "And you're not coming in."

"Oh, but… _pleeeease_!" whimpered April tremulously, in a pitch so childishly high that it amplified Johnny's fear. "I'm just a poor lonely mother, wanting to see her _son_!" She pulled an exaggerated sad face, looking like a mournful clown.

"You need to leave."

"Can't make me."

"I _can_ and I _will_. Demon isn't here, anyway."

"Well, young man," – her voice was like molten glass – "perhaps you can direct me to where I might _find_ Demon."

Johnny snorted. "Ha, there's _no way_ I'm telling you that. He's in my care, and I'm not going to just let you get at him. I'm not afraid of you."

April paused; Johnny thought she looked genuinely disappointed. "Oh… aren't you?" Her eyes lost interest, started looking around the driveway and up and down the front of the house. "Can I get a name perhaps?"

"… Mine? Uh, Johnny."

"Hm. Well, Johnny, let's imagine that I'm… a home security expert, perhaps, and I've come round for a routine checkup. Now, what I'd say to you is… _perhaps_ you might want to think about the security of the rear of the property."

"Oh, yeah?" said Johnny confidently, folding his hands to present a defiant outward stance. "And why's that?"

April leaned in very, very close, so her blonde hair tickled Johnny's chest and her breath was warm in his eye as she whispered gleefully, " _Because it's not been locked_. Ohhh Johnny boy, when I come in there, if I find Demon's there, I might just have to do something I _very_ , _very_ much regret."

In that instant, Johnny's mind was made up. He had to protect these kids, no matter what. He didn't know if the woman was making it up or not about the back door, but he had a duty, and he was going to damn well fulfil it. He'd do _anything_ to keep those kids safe.

Acutely aware that April was still a mere few centimetres away from him, he turned his head slightly to face the house. Hoping beyond all hope that his voice, if he made it loud enough, would be audible to Carmen inside the house, he _yelled_ , at the absolute top of his lungs, "LLLLOOOOCCCCKKK THE BAAAACCCCKKKKKK DOOOOOOOOORRRRRR!"

And that's when he felt the dagger in his gut.

Pain like lightning arced through his body, concentrated on the pin-prick of flesh where the blade had gone in. It was boiling and freezing at the same time; it was insignificant and it was the worst pain he'd ever felt. He felt it in his stomach, in his brain, in his eyes. He lifted up his top, and saw an immediate bloodbath, vibrant red paint decorating his lower torso. _The pain_. So this was what dying was like. He'd wondered for so long. It was _so painful_.

His vision blurred, his hearing fuzzy, he could just hear April say, "Goodbye, Johnny" and watch her shaking, amorphous form lumber away down the driveway, before he keeled over onto the tarmac and cracked his head on the harsh ground.

* * *

 **TO BE CONTINUED...**

* * *

 **This chapter was outlined on 2 March and written from 15-28 March.  
** **The story concludes next Friday (12 April - _if_ I can finish it on time!).**


	13. The Slippery Slope

Blood swirled round his mouth. He fell to the rough ground, and stones cut into his palms, opened up chasms in his hands. The world was ripping him apart, and he was fighting it to the bitter end.

This time she'd actually _used_ the knife. It wasn't the same one that had haunted his childhood, kept him as compliant as she wanted, hurt Siren… but it was similar enough. Similar enough to be loaded with the same memories. A decade down the line, and she was still ruling over him with that knife, that lunatic mind. How far had he even _come_ since then?

With tattered clothes, bleeding mouth and screaming jawbone, he pulled himself along the stones. Thick mud was clumping to his clothes – he could feel its cold embrace sucking onto his skin and squelching as he writhed through it – but it relieved the stinging of the cuts for the briefest soothing seconds. He was an eagle, shot down in flight, carrion for the vultures. But whatever happened, whatever else came out of this ordeal, he wasn't going to let them get at him.

Here he was – Bulingdon Mine. A vast quarry which ate into the landscape, exposing the minerals to the cruel world above. Around the bowl were ledges of rock, like an amphitheatre with row upon row of stone patrons waiting for the show. If only he could find the right ledge – the second-highest, the one where she'd left him all those years ago. Just… _left_ him, and drove away with Siren. It didn't matter _why_ she'd left him and not Siren – he'd pondered that enough over the years – it just mattered that he found the spot. There was something cyclical about it; he liked that.

One _hell_ of a show was coming. He had a story to tell, and, if Mike found him, he was going to tell it. It was time for the truth.

* * *

 **THE DUMPING GROUND: RENAISSANCE  
** **Chapter 13: "The Slippery Slope"  
** **(** _ **Tailspin**_ **, Part 2)**

* * *

Mike looked around the quarry, this way and that, seeing nothing but endless rock. The harsh wind lacerated his cheeks. He couldn't have come here for nothing.

But then – there he was. A small speck of black, huddled on a thick ridge of rock near the top of the vertiginous cliff face, silhouetted against the darkening sky like some angel of death.

In that moment, it was like the alcohol was knocked out of him – instantly, the urgent need to _protect_ kicked in, and Mike was racing up the stone path, up to the top of the cliff. Ignoring the burning in his lungs and the furious assault of the wind on his face, he scrambled up the final jagged inclines, dropped down onto the ledge… and had no idea what to do next.

Demon was sat on the ledge, looking down into the chasm below with his stick-thin legs dangling over the edge. "Mike?" he asked in a hollow waver.

The boy turned round and smiled limply. Far from an angel of death – Mike realised he'd never seen Demon look so fragile. His skin was almost chemically white, impossibly stretched over the bones, and a patchwork quilt of vile purple bruises and small red gaping cuts adorned his face; he wore it like war paint.

"Sit with me," he pleaded, patting a space next to him.

"I'm a little scared of heights, to be honest with you," confessed Mike.

"Me too."

Mike manoeuvred himself cautiously into a sitting position and shuffled the final metre or so along, just enough that his legs were dangling over the edge as well. No safety net, nothing to stop them if one of them lost their balance… Demon did always prefer the stakes to be high.

"Come on then," said Mike nervously, trying to forget the drop below. "What can I do for you?"

Demon laughed a little. "Oh Mike… I need to talk through everything with someone. I need a listener. I'm going to tell you, but _only_ if you don't tell anyone else, okay?"

"Understood." Personally, Mike was _dying_ to find out what Demon was going to say. The boy had certainly had a hellish time of it recently; he'd left Ashdene Ridge for the secure home a few years ago, come out in June, spent three months at Burnywood and transferred back to Waterland House. And Mike didn't even really know _why_.

"Just _listen_ , okay?"

Mike nodded. God, he did look silly, sitting on the edge of a hundred-foot drop in his sweat-stained shirt.

"It's three Novembers ago," Demon began, a little uneasily, like he'd been building up to divulging all of this for a while. "We're still at Ashdene Ridge, everything's going fine, I'm having a great time, life's good. But then I start getting these texts – starting off just one every few days, but then more, and more, and more, until I'm getting twenty or thirty every day. And they're all from the same number, and they're all threatening me. They're about… kidnapping me, taking me away, and living with me forever and… and killing me if I tell anybody."

"How long did this go on for? Who was it?"

"Wait, wait, wait," said Demon, resuming his story. "Anyway, so there's a few letters as well – I think I kept some of them – and I still have no idea who's sending it all, but then they start calling. And I ignore it at first – because _of course_ I did – but then one time, I picked up. And it was Mum.

"She said she'd got out of psychiatric and she was well again. But I could just _tell_ from those texts… she wasn't well at all. She said she was coming to get me, and that's when I realised that everyone at Ashdene Ridge could be in danger."

"When _was_ this?" asked Mike.

"End of January, something like that. Three months after it all started."

"But that's when you went to secure. You're not telling me…" It dawned on Mike and all he felt was immense pity for this boy who was prepared to go down fighting to keep the others safe. "… Oh, Demon. You got yourself moved to secure _deliberately_ , didn't you?"

"I _had_ to. So I got moved to secure, and I told Mum about it, so she wouldn't come to Ashdene Ridge looking for me.

"It didn't stop the calls and the letters, though – she's never stopped that." Demon stopped for a minute, to swallow and suppress the beginnings of tears that he felt in his throat. Mike put a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder – he could only _begin_ to imagine.

That was when Demon lifted up his shirt slightly, exposing a criss-cross pattern of red stretch marks and small folds of sagging stomach skin. Mike knew instantly what it meant. Demon continued, "She was saying _so much_ horrible stuff, just constant… And I fucking _took it to heart_. I was eating so much food and being so bad to myself, and… none of it was right, but I didn't _see_ that at the time-" His voice was growing splintered, choking with emerging sobs. He took off his leather jacket to expose rivers of healing crimson scars along his bare arms. "-and _everything was just getting so bad_."

He fell, sobbing, into Mike's arms.

* * *

Jody gently teased the wooden block out from the tower a little, used the smallest pressure possible to guide it into her waiting hand. Just a few millimetres more… softly, softly… victory was surely hers…

The tower tumbled, clattering as each piece hit the coffee table. It frightened some of the younger kids kneeling around the table, who jumped out the way as blocks rained down on them.

"Better luck next time, my love," cooed Valentina, who was sat next to her on the sofa. She started collecting the blocks together. It had been quite the effort to calm the Young People down after Johnny had been found, writhing on his personal mattress of bright red. Carmen rushed him off to hospital – she'd been shocked, undoubtedly, but pragmatic and level-headed; Valentina admired her for that. She and Mo had been picking up the pieces for the few hours since then, keeping the kids occupied, always anxious for the ring of a telephone that never rung. For the most part, it was working.

She glanced across at the clock and then addressed the room. "So, guys… are we all starting to get hungry?" No reply from any of the eleven children. She decided to try again. "Because if I put tea on now, it'll be ready in about an hour…" Some of them made a few dispirited grunts; it was clear that their hearts just weren't it after the shock.

She got up off the sofa, and paced towards the kitchen. Yes, everyone had had an awful jolt today, but that didn't mean things couldn't run as normal. She had a job to do, and she was going to bloody well do it.

As she reached the kitchen, her phone rang. Her hand zipped to her pocket like a lightning bolt; she slapped the phone to her ear.

"Yes? Hello?"

On the other end of the line, Carmen sounded more exhausted than ever. Valentina could almost see her tear-streamed cheeks across the airwaves, see the puffy eyes, the pallid face.

But the message came – and it was hope.

"Valentina, he's alright." And there it was: thousands upon thousands of years of worry, distilled into that one sentence of perfect relief. "He's gonna be alright."

* * *

A revelation hit Mike like a speeding truck. "Hang on – that woman from the other morning. That's her, isn't it?" he asked. Demon nodded – he'd been given a tissue to wipe his tears, and was just starting to calm down. " _That's_ why I recognised her. I think I can take the story for a bit now… She came to Ashdene Ridge, at the start of this year. For a few weeks, we all kept seeing her on the driveway, round the side of the house, peering in through the windows. Really, _really_ creepy stuff. Like a stalker. The kids were getting scared, and to be honest so was I."

"So you moved to Waterland," Demon stated.

"To keep everyone safe, yeah," affirmed Mike.

"That was about the time when I reached my breaking point. I just… it sounds so… so _clichéd_ , but something just _clicked_ , and I realised that I was turning into someone I didn't want to be. Smoker. Drinker. Getting fat." He looked up for the first time in the conversation. "Please stop drinking, Mike."

"I know. I will. I'm going to work on it."

" _Please._ " They locked eyes and Mike nodded slowly.

"So what did you do?" Mike inquired.

"Got help," Demon smiled. "Emailed a counsellor. It was something the secure home told me to do – this council thing, Young Changemakers Counselling Service or something. There was this _brilliant_ counsellor, and she helped me get through it; we did it all on email. And then, just like that, the calls and the letters and everything… it just _stopped_. Secure told me she'd been locked up again. They'd caught her. She should never have been let out."

He ruminated on this for a moment. Mike didn't want to broach the topic too much; clearly, Demon wasn't entirely comfortable talking about his mum right now.

"That would be the time when you moved out of secure, wouldn't it?" Mike asked.

"Yeah. She was in, I was out. That was the arrangement." He glared at Mike playfully. " _And you wouldn't take me in_."

"We were moving! We were _busy_! _You know_ , Demon, that there was only one care home that could accommodate you."

The boy sighed. "Anyway, I was at Burnywood, counselling was still happening, that was fine… but then I started getting this really, _really_ intense pain in my chest. And I couldn't really guess when it was going to come, but I knew it was gonna hurt. Burnywood they said it was anaemia and they wanted me to eat meat to sort it out."

"But you're vegetarian."

"Exactly." Demon raised an eyebrow pointedly. "So I was like 'I'm not doing that' and I went to the hospital to find out what was wrong."

Mike quickly evaluated the symptoms Demon had described, thought about the formation of little pill bottles on his bedside table, considered the times he'd fallen to the floor when the other kids were crowding him. "… And the doctor diagnosed coronary heart disease, didn't he?"

Demon nodded. He almost looked ashamed. "And now you're kind of up to speed." He looked wistfully out over the quarry for a second or two – then snapped out of it. "Okay, that's it, story's over."

Mike smiled reassuringly. "Thank you for telling me. I really appreciate it, Demon. One thing, though: what about your mum?"

"She got out," Demon confirmed, a world's weariness in his sigh. "She's on the run. We've met a couple of times in the last few days. It's fine. I can handle it. I _am_ handling it."

"And you're sure-"

They heard a footstep – a boot scuffing on a stone. Instinctively, Mike turned around and put himself between Demon and whoever it was. He got the fright of his life.

" _Elektra_?"

At this, Demon whirled around too. "You came," he said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Mike was astonished. "You… _asked_ her to come?"

"I wanted her to be here." He turned to his friend. "You haven't been talking to me since I came back from Burnywood. This seems as good a time as any to sort things out."

"Wait, you haven't worked it out?" asked Elektra.

"Worked _what_ out?" Demon asked, voice full of frustration.

" _I was the counsellor_." Demon's eyes widened. "From Young Changemakers. They made us do a counselling service as part of it, and… to be honest, I guessed it was you. I _hoped_ it was you. The whole time I was writing to you, I was _hoping_ it was you."

Demon breathed out heavily. "Well… thanks, I guess. Thank you very much; it really, _really_ helped." He paused, pondered. "But why weren't you talking to me?"

"Well, I know you're saying it helped, but… it didn't… _seem_ like it. You came back and you were having all these heart problems, and getting paler and paler, and I was _trying_ to help but I could see you slipping away."

"But I was fine! I _am_ fine!"

"No. You're not. Your mum's been texting you all this time, and you've been getting worse and worse again."

"I was only getting worse because… because the counselling stopped."

"Yeah, because I've been _working_ with you! I _had_ to stop… I'm going to be really honest with you, okay?"

Demon nodded.

"I was so, _so_ pleased with the progress I made with you, and I really thought you were getting better, and… that's what inspired me to become a care worker. I know, it sounds silly."

"No," said Demon admiringly, "it sounds…"

Before he could think of the word, a terrible thought came to mind. Without warning, he got up and ran towards Elektra with outstretched arms. She happily hugged him.

"Hey, what is it?" she asked.

"I'm so sorry – for putting the tripwire on the stairs. I wasn't thinking, I just… _Ryan_. I was _jealous_ – I thought you were getting on really well with each other, but then after all that stuff that Chloe said, I… I'm really sorry."

Elektra hugged him even tighter.

"Demon?" asked Mike, breaking up the hug. "Where is she now, your mum?"

"Oh, she's on her way here."

" _What_?!" Mike couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"It's all arranged. We're gonna settle this. I'm so fucking _tired_ , Mike."

* * *

Carmen slammed the front door, slung her handbag to the floor, ripped her shoes off and walked into the living room, where all eleven children, Valentina and Mo were waiting for her. They crowded around her, clamoured, asked for all her news – some of the younger ones even hugged her. She couldn't handle it, not all of them talking at once. Her head was killing her.

"QUIIIEEEETT!" she cried. "Thank you. _Right_ , first things first, guys, I'm _very_ tired. Soooo I'm going to tell you everything I know, on the condition that one of you runs me a bath after I'm finished, okay?"

"I'll do it!" chirped Rafiq.

"Thanks," Carmen smiled weakly. "Johnny's going to be fine. He's not too brilliant right _now_ , and he will have to stay in hospital for a week – maybe a bit more – but everything's looking like it'll be okay. Also, _Joseph_ is absolutely fine as well; he's coming home in the morning, he just needs to stay in for another night to make sure he's going to heal properly."

"So there's nothing to worry about?" ventured Mo.

"Absolutely nothing."

Some of the kids cheered.

" _But_ ," Carmen warned, changing the subject, her eyes flitting from child to child, "there's something I really _do_ have to talk to you all about, before Joseph gets back, and I think you know what it is."

The kids looked uneasily at each other. Any one of them could be the culprit, the enemy within.

"And they _definitely_ didn't just both trip?" checked Jody.

"No. We found a tripwire, remember?" Carmen pointed out.

"I'll start by saying it wasn't me," announced Ryan, reclining back on the sofa.

"Yeah, but maybe you just said that because you're covering your tracks and it _was_ you!" Floss surmised, melodramatically twirling her hands about.

"Maybe you're only blaming _him_ because it was _you_ ," reasoned Chloe.

Sensing an argument brewing, Carmen chipped in, "STOP! We are _not_ – I repeat _not_ – going to start blaming people. It's simple enough: Joseph and Elektra could have been _seriously_ , _seriously_ hurt, and it's a miracle that they've got off this lightly. This might have been a homophobic incident, or it might not even have been meant for those people. I don't know. _But_ either one of you owns up to it, or you'll all be sanctioned." Floss started to open her mouth to protest. " _Ah!_ No ifs, no buts. I'm giving you ten seconds to decide."

She scanned their faces, tried to ascertain whether any of them looked guilty. "1… 2…" Ryan looked uncomfortably casual – _deceptively_ so? "3… 4…" Aisha and Rafiq seemed as bouncy as ever, but that could be hiding a guilty nervousness. "5… 6…" And then there was Tyler – ever the prankster, but surely he wouldn't do something _this_ severe? "7… 8…" Could she even be sure that it hadn't been _Mike_ , in one of his states of drunken confusion? "9…" Oh god, she was hoped she was handling this alright.

"10." Silence. No hands raised, no voices speaking up. She looked around the group one final time, and calmly stated, "I'll decide on a punishment later. Floss, I _think_ you said you'd run me a bath now."

Floss got up and left the room, taking the opportunity to scowl at Carmen as she did so. Carmen realised that she'd made herself _very_ unpopular with that move. But it had to be made.

* * *

He heard her about a minute before she would reach the ledge. Footstep after footstep, coming ever closer, brazenly disturbing the stones. Each step was gold dust, telling him how quickly she was moving, how tired she was, how near. As he started to see the top of her head trudging towards him, his temples started to throb, sweat began to dot his brow, he could feel a quick pulse in every part of his body as hot blood rushed around. Blood would have blood, and whatever the outcome, he knew this would be their final meeting.

April Traylen swung down onto the ledge, still in those hideous brown furs with that scraggly blonde hair and that manic smile. She gave a chilling nod of acknowledgement to her son. All around, the dark November twilight suffocated them into their own little battleground.

"We've got to stop meeting," Demon began, his all-black attire fading into the darkness around. "This is the last time."

"Ah, but you _know_ , my boy, you _know_ how easily we can make this the last time…" said April in an odd choked whisper. "The question is just about _who_ … will _pounce_ … first."

"No," he asserted. "I want to know why you're back. Why you got out of your hospital."

And now she was like an excitable child telling her parents something she was delighted to have found out. "For _you_ , of course, for _you_!"

"I'm here."

"No, no, _no_! _Silly_ boy! Not _juuust_ you! What would be the point in just _you_? No, Siren too! And Bobby – and Daddy! Oh, my little Demon, it's going to be _fantastic_ – we're going to go on the run, both of us together! And we're going to find Siren, whatever home she's in these days, and we're going to find Daddy, wherever _he_ is these days, and we're going to be a _family_ again!"

The penny dropped. Not a maniac, _far_ from a psychopath – she was just a poor madwoman. She was back, because she wanted her _family_ back. Overwhelming pity flooded into Demon's bones. What a poor, deluded woman. And he was going to have to shatter those delusions.

"We can't," he said as calmly as he could.

"Oh, Demon, think about it – the Traylen family, _back together again_! Won't it be _fabulous_?" She paused; the mad smile dropped a little. "Demon? Do you not _want_ us to be back together?"

He dodged it. "We _can't_. _Please_ tell me somebody's already told you about Dad and Siren. Someone's _got_ to have told you."

"Told me _WHAT_?!" roared April. " _WHAT_ HAVE THEY TOLD ME?"

It physically hurt him to tell her: "Dad's locked up. And Siren's dead."

She gasped, and took a step back. " _No_."

"I'm sorry."

"… No. It _can't_ be, it _wasn't_ meant to be like this. We were going to be a _family_ again!"

"I'm _sorry_!"

"You can't– you can't just… can't just tell me things like that, _ruin_ our happy family. You… you _can't_ … No. _NO!_ "

She reached out, grabbing handfuls of air, swatting imaginary flies away. Clearly, she had no idea what to do now. So she went for what was most natural, and retrieved her blood-stained dagger from her pocket.

"Mum, no," Demon pleaded. "Whatever you're going to do with that, _don't_."

"Ugh, _look_ at you!" cried April in despair. "With your 'Mum, no' and your 'we can work it all out'. PATHETIC! The only thing I wanted from a child of mine, was for them _not_ to be pathetic, and you've only gone and bloody well fucked that up, haven't you? _HAVEN'T YOU_!" It was a screech that reverberated around the quarry.

She raised the knife high, poised to cut him down where he stood. And got the surprise of her life when her son pulled out a knife of his own from his jacket.

He held it confidently in his right hand, pushing the blade out to ward her off. "Don't think I won't."

"You would _never_ – I'm your _mum_! Ikkle Demon wouldn't hurt his _Mummy_ , now, would he?"

"Don't try me."

"Ah, so much I wanted from life, when I was your age. So many _graaaand plaaans_ – all the things I was going to do, and see, and _be._ The most amazing husband. The most beautiful daughter. And then…" She looked at him with disgust, keeping the dagger level. " _You_. Cries, _all throoooouuuuugh the night_! Cries, _aaaaall through the day_! I was so glad to leave you here the first time around. But _then_ , as soon as I want you back, as soon as I need you to tell me where Siren and Dad are, what do I find? _WHAT DO I FIND?_ … I _find_ that he's a _wimp_. A common or garden _wimp_. Runs to a secure home to get away from me. Makes friends with… _girls_. Rows of little bottles by his bed. _Do you know_ … Mummy pigs sometimes _eat_ their young." She injected fire into the word 'eat', stabbed it into her son. "If only, eh…" Her voice became a grating monotone: "You won't use that knife, Demon. If I know you, I know you won't lift a finger to hurt me. You wouldn't hurt a fly, and you _certainly_ wouldn't hurt your mum."

He looked her right in the eye. Malevolent eye to malevolent eye, like two panthers glaring at each other. Life or death. Survival of the fittest. This was it.

"You aren't my mum anymore."

Knife in hand, she charged. Knife in hand, he met her.

* * *

Text from Roxy: _Need to talk. URGENT! My foster mum wants to foster you. SORRY IF ITS A SHOCK. need to get u out of waterland – not safe for them or you. CALL ME. Rx_

* * *

Imagine you are an observer, standing at the bottom of the endless quarry at Bulingdon Mine. The night is chilly and the sky dark, and all your attention is drawn to the sounds of a fight, far, far above you. For what feels like hours there are grunts and shouts, and you can only imagine the sweat and the blood and the fury of the battle.

But then – suddenly – your eye is drawn to something falling down the cliff face. Something small, slender, flashing as it twists and turns: a knife. It slams into the ground with a barely perceptible clink. Then, ten or fifteen seconds later, your eye is drawn upwards again. Tumbling down, in freefall, surely dead already, a figure – a person – clatters to the rocky ground, their bones shattering on impact. One minute a living, breathing human being; the next, an amorphous pool at the bottom of the cliff.

The victor looks over the edge. Now the bloodline will die with them.

* * *

 _The next afternoon_

Chloe knocked on the door of her brother's room, opened the door and came in. He was sat on his bed, so she wheeled up next to him.

"Can we talk?"

Ryan put his laptop down. "Yeah, what about?"

She looked a little guilty. "… Elektra."

"Okay… what do you wanna know?" He clenched his jaw, evidently tensing up.

"Was…" Chloe looked around the room, as if looking for help. "Was it… consensual?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Every bit of it. I promise. Elektra's done nothing wrong."

"No, Ryan, she _has_. She's not _allowed_ to do stuff like that with you; you know that."

"Chloe, it didn't _feel_ wrong, okay? She's only a couple of years older than me. There's nothing illegal about it."

"She's your careworker!" Chloe cried desperately. "Care homes get _closed down_ for stuff like this. They get _investigated_. Ryan, you know you can't be with her, don't you?"

He rubbed his neck. "I'm _starting_ to understand that, yeah. But-" he protested. "-Elektra shouldn't be fired for this. Neither of us thought it was anything bad, and I kind of brought it all on and…" He let out a long sigh.

Chloe looked her brother dead in the eye. "So you don't think that it was abuse?"

"No! No… Chloe, I understand why you're saying that, but I _promise_ , nothing happened that I didn't want to happen."

"And how are you feeling now? Looking back on it?"

He took some time to think. "Absolutely fine. I'm… I'm ready to move on."

"I love you," said Chloe, squeezing his hand before he pulled her in for a hug.

* * *

The food, stunning, succulent and scrumptious, sat steaming in bowls dotted around the table. Children piled their plates sky-high, greedily tucking in. You'd think it was the day when rationing was over. Valentina sat, smiling, secretly very pleased with herself, at the head of the table, flanked by Carmen and Mo on either side. The kids were chatting merrily amongst themselves, smiling – _happy_.

The careworkers, temporary though they may have been, looked around at this odd little family in front of them, and couldn't be prouder of them all. They'd faced a lot in the last few weeks, and to have reached the other side… The careworkers couldn't imagine how the peace could possibly be broken.

For the first time in three days, Demon came in.

Anyone who'd seen him the day before would consider him _remarkably_ tidied up now – all cuts and bloodstains were gone, his hair was neatly tied up in a bun and he was resplendent in his usual all-black attire. He almost _waltzed_ into the kitchen, then proceeded to perch on one of the stools at the breakfast bar and ask: "So, what are we eating?"

"Demon!" cried Ryan in surprise. The others looked up; some of them kept their eyes fixed on the new arrival, whilst others made a point of going straight back to their meals.

"Don't look so surprised, I had to come back _eventually_."

"What's been _happening_?" Carmen fretted. "Are you _okay_?"

"Let the poor boy eat!" protested Valentina, getting up and ladling piping-hot roast potatoes onto a plate. "He's probably _starving_!"

"But- but Demon, where have you _been_?"

"Just went for a walk," he said by way of explanation.

"For _three days_?"

"Needed to clear my head. Do you think I should be fostered?"

" _What_?!"

He spoke through a mouthful of food. "Roxy's mum wants to foster me."

" _Hang on!_ " cried Tyler. "How's that fair?"

"How do you mean?" asked Demon combatively.

"Some of us have been here for _years_. We've waited, and waited, and always been good, and we get _nothing_. And then _you_ come along, bring your mum with you, she nearly _kills_ Johnny, and because of that he gets a ticket out of here. _Not. Fair._ "

" _I've_ been here for years!" Demon protested. "…on and off. We used to be _friends_ , Tyler."

"No. We were never 'friends'. We just live together. It doesn't mean I have to like you. In fact… I _don't_ , and I don't think anyone else does either."

"Steady on, Tyler," cautioned Valentina.

"You can't _say_ things like that!" added Mo.

Tyler ignored them and stood up; his chair screeched like nails on a chalkboard as it scraped back over the floor. "Yes, I _can_. What if Johnny had been killed? It could so easily have happened. And it's all because of your mum, who's only here because of _you_. Carmen, stop him!" shouted Tyler.

"You know I can't do that."

"What do _you_ know? _You're_ not Head Careworker!"

"Uh, yes I _am_. For now, anyway, so watch your mouth."

"He shouldn't be… _rewarded_ for what he's done!"

Jody tapped Tyler on the shoulder. "Tyler. I know what you're saying. I agree with it. But… we _want_ him gone. So let's let him go."

And it was like a wall had sprung up between Demon and the others, a wall of disapproving faces, each silently echoing what Tyler and Jody had said. Demon stared at the wall. It wanted him out. But he wouldn't be defeated – not after all of this. If he was going to leave Waterland House, he was going to do it on his own terms.

He was sick of this.

He stormed out of the room.

* * *

Nine days later

 _The stealthy sunlight lightly tickled Demon's face, gently easing him into the new day. His last day at the Dumping Ground. His last day in care!_

 _He unplugged his phone, threw the charger into an open suitcase and checked his messages. The screen lit up with texts wishing him good luck. Oh yes, today felt good._

 _Roxy's mum was getting here nice and early, he knew that – so he might as well get ready. He crossed to the bathroom – no queue; fate was smiling on him today – and brushed his teeth. She was a lovely woman, his new foster mum – bold, bitchy and Welsh, with black tresses falling down her back, never anything but kind-hearted and supportive towards him in their previous interactions. He couldn't wait – she was going to help him unpack, then he was free to do what he liked before Roxy came home in the evening and they ordered a Chinese._

 _The morning went by in a blur. The others carried his suitcases into the entrance hall for him with the reverence of a priest carrying a holy book aloft. Valentina treated him to the biggest and best cooked breakfast of his life. To his surprise, Mike came round and they had the heart-to-heart that Demon had always wanted them to have._

 _The car came, but Demon snuck off whilst Carmen was loading the suitcases into the boot. He had one final thing to do._

 _He didn't bother knocking as he stepped into Ryan's room. Ryan was sat on the chair at his desk, but instinctively he stood up and faced the intruder._

 _Demon crossed over to him. "I have to do this before I go," whispered the boy in black. "Don't say anything." He moved in tentatively, Ryan did the same, and their lips met. Pleasure rushed through their veins. It tasted like bliss._

* * *

He woke up. It was a crash of thunder, and the rain beating at his bedroom window like Catherine Earnshaw demanding to be let in, that threw him into the new day. His last day at Waterland House. His last day in care. For now, anyway – how many last days had he had by this point?

He unplugged his phone, threw the charger into an open suitcase and checked his messages. Nothing. Oh well, he'd never needed anyone _before_.

The morning went by in a blur. He brought his suitcases clumsily down into the entrance hall, and sat there waiting for about an hour. Eventually, she arrived, all beaming smiles and cardigans, and started to load his suitcases into the car. Demon looked around the entrance hall of Waterland House for the final time – nobody was there to see him off. He didn't want them here anyway. He looked around one last time – he thought he saw Ryan at the top of the stairs for a moment, but then Carmen was cheerily (a little _too_ cheerily) waving him goodbye, and he was gone.

He followed his new mum to the car, packed the final item of luggage into the boot – a flowery shop-bought 'Good Luck' card signed by Carmen, Mo and Valentina – and shut it. His mum started to move round to open the door on the driver's side – and that's when Demon _ran_.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him – along the drive – boots crunching on gravel – and leapt up a crumbling stone wall separating Waterland from the world – vaulted over it – was gone before anyone had even registered it.

 _So that's what on the other side_ , he thought. It was a small garden – not of the picturesque Chelsea Flower Show type, though. It was overgrown, as natural as they come, with a floor of thick spongy verdant moss and a network of thin spidery trees leering over it in all directions, forming a sort of clearing into which the sunlight only penetrated a little. In that clearing was a rickety old wooden bench. And on that bench were the two people he wanted to see most of all.

"Demon!" smiled Mike. "So glad you could join us. Take a seat."

He sat down between them on the bench. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"Bit of a lucky guess to be honest," admitted Elektra. "But you're… you're not ready to leave quite yet, are you?"

"I _am_! Well… maybe not just yet. _They_ want me gone – all of the others."

"Ah, they _say_ they do." Mike pointed out. "They'll miss you when you're gone."

"There's probably another kid somewhere all lined up to take my place. They'll be repainting my room already."

"Well you're right there – there are _always_ Young People who need our help. But you should be thankful it's happening – Demon, you're getting fostered! That's the best outcome any child can have from the care system. Take the chance – and enjoy it!"

"But… I'm gonna miss this."

"What, the _people_?" Elektra asked incredulously.

"I'll miss _you_ two; everyone else from the olden days moved on," Demon reflected. "I don't know, it kind of feels like this is such a massive step in my life, and it just… makes you think, doesn't it?"

Elektra turned to face him. "Look, leaving care is a massive thing, especially when it's been such a big part of your life. I won't pretend it's easy, and there's a lot of new responsibility for you to take, but it'll be so _good_ for you."

"And so _fun_!" added Mike. "No fighting over food, no toilet queues… you should see it as a _privilege_."

"Johnny nearly died because of me. I don't _deserve_ the privilege."

"It wasn't your fault," Mike reassured him. "I know it wasn't. _They_ know it wasn't – they'll _realise_ it wasn't. And of _course_ you deserve this… Oh, I'm gonna miss you."

Demon smiled, a little apologetically. "You too. And you, Elektra. I'm gonna miss you both so much."

"Hey, we're just a phone call away! _Always_."

Such a cliché. But Demon knew it was true. He'd spent a decade experiencing everything the care system had to throw at him, but finally, after all this time, and with two of the most supportive people he'd ever met behind him every step of the way, he was getting out.

"Ready to go?" asked Mike. Demon nodded. "Good man. See you around, then."

And with a final look behind him, Demon climbed back over the wall and embarked on the next big adventure.

* * *

 _Two weeks later_

The garden buzzed with life. Eleven kids had wrapped themselves up like armoured tanks against the chilly breeze and were running around in their coats, scarves, hats and gloves. It was the first snow of the year, and they were definitely making the most of it.

Carmen looked around – at Aisha, merrily making snow angels; at Floss, catching falling snowflakes on her tongue; at Chloe and Ryan, working together to splat Tyler with a fat snowball – and couldn't help but crack a wide smile. She'd done it. Finally, after a rocky five months, here was happiness. Here was peace.

A snowball, propelled by Bird, sailed through the air, faster, faster, zooming over the heads of the other kids…

And hit Mike straight in the face, as he walked in.

It was like he was a rock star. Within seconds he was being _swarmed_ by kids, who demanded to know how he was.

"I'm brilliant, thank you," he replied, spitting snow out of his mouth. "Yes, hello Aisha" – she was excitedly climbing all over him – "And do you wanna know _why_ I'm feeling so brilliant? Two reasons. Number one: guess which blonde bombshell rang me up this morning to tell me her project in Romania's ending early so she'll be back for good at Christmas?"

"No way! Really? _Fiona_?" exclaimed Tyler in surprise.

" _Yes way_!" enthused Mike, beaming from ear to ear.

"So what's the second reason?" asked Jay.

"Well, as you guys know, I've taken some time off recently, _but_ … guess who's coming back, _for good_ , on Monday?! Me!"

The kids all cheered "HURRAAY!" and the younger ones even jumped for joy. Carmen watched on, seeing the smiles and laughter of the ecstatic children of Waterland House as they paraded around the garden with Mike, and thought she could smile like this forever.

Because, she realised as she surveyed the playful snowy landscape, a family wasn't blood, or obligation, or heritage. It was _kindness_ , gratitude, and teamwork. It was standing up for the ones you loved, no matter the cost to yourself, and helping others even when you had a million other things to do. It was lessons, and progression, trials and tribulations, overcoming adversity together. The optimistic shared smile of the beginning, and the proud group hug of the end.

It was unity. It was love. It was the Dumping Ground.

* * *

 **There we go - _The Dumping Ground: Renaissance_ is finished! This final chapter was written from 4-9 April (and I finished it in time!)**

 **Never say never, but I'm inclined to say this is my final story (at least for a long while) - my five Dumping Ground stories have spanned over seven years, and as I'm going to uni later this year I think it's probably the right time to wrap things up. _Renaissance_ has been such an immensely fun story to write - it's taken up five of the most busy and exciting months of my life, and has been full of fun times and challenges too. It's been written in cars and classrooms, on buses and on holidays, in hotel rooms and bedrooms, inside and outside, on laptops and in notebooks, and in three separate countries - and, despite facing some difficulties along the way, I'm really pleased with the result, and it's something I'm very proud of. I hope you've enjoyed reading the story over the last three months - please leave a review, because I'd love to hear your thoughts, and thanks to everybody who's reviewed so far, with special thanks to linneagb and CharlieSMarts12.**

 **Thank you very much, and I hope you've enjoyed _The Dumping Ground: Renaissance_!**

 **BizarrePineapple16**


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